OLD: The Hopefully NonMagic Diary of Ginny Weasley
by seven years
Summary: She's failing potions, she doesn't have a boyfriend-and she's positive that the whole school is insane. How is she to survive? Maybe taking off the mask she wears will help-and maybe someone is hiding in the shadows, helping her do just that. DG
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Set during Christmastime. Let's see: Mysterious person sends Ginny a diary. She's starting to get tired of associating with diaries. She's quite sure either the whole school, or herself, is insane, she's failing potions, she doesn't have a boyfriend and she still doesn't know who sent her the diary. Will she be able to figure it all out (more like figure herself out) before Christmas day?

Yea. So, to sum it all up, since it all is a bit much:

Jingle bells, Ronald yells, Draco Malfoy smells. Hey!

**Note:** This was written pre-OotP. Yes, that would indeed be before the reign of Attitude!Ginny. Yes, that would indeed be the era in which most people concluded that Ginny still acted somewhat shy around people. In this fic, I have taken the liberty of exaggerating that fact for plot purposes. So although Ginny may be OOC now—please, at least until this story is over, pretend she is not, and let us together pretend Ginny Weasley is your typical, angst-ridden teenager.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ginny, Harry, Ron, or anything related to Harry Potter. Please don't sue me.

****

**The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley**

By seven years

----

_November 28 _

When one is nearing Christmas time, it is safe to say that one is usually in a very jolly mood. It if also safe to say that one would be safe from evil stalkers/psychopaths/dark lord accomplices. Or simply put, assholes.

I guess on the bright side, it's not even Christmas yet and I'm getting presents. Yay, people like me.

On the darker, overpowering side, it's not even Christmas yet and I'm getting presents **from mysterious unknowns**.

Even more sinister: It's a diary.

'_Here is a diary, for you to pour your heart into.' _

I will tell you here and now (for I, Ginny Weasley, do not lie) that I am not the sharpest crayon in the box. Er—is that right? Or is that brightest tool in the shed? No, I've got it.

I am not the brightest crayon in the box.

But neither am I completely stupid. And I most certainly do not suffer from short-term memory loss. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. (That one's right, is it not?)

Being the smart, deducing girl that I am, I've an idea who might have sent it.

A sick minded bastard who thought it was funny, who will consequently become a eunuch if I ever get my hands on him. Poor chap. NOT.

I planned on throwing it away. A girl like me has virtually no use for a diary, except perhaps fuel for the Gryffindor fire.

But just as I neared the roaring chasm of doom (the fireplace), seeking to banish this evil and potent talisman into nothingness for eternity, Harry, Herm and Ron came sauntering in.

By Murphy's Law, it is only natural that they notice the pretty, shiny, gold trimmed diary. Not that I blame them. It looks prettier than I, therefore probably more worthy of their attention. It's not fair that evil things and people should look so pretty. Like Malfoy. He looks pretty. But his aura reeks of such sinister intent, no one can stand to be near him for long, lest his aura rub off on you. Oh, well. Voldemort doesn't look pretty. (Anymore.) Damn, am I having less than murderous thoughts about my evil former captive, Tom Riddle?

No. I digress.

I realized then that I would have to explain to Harry, Herm, and Ron about the Perpetrator-Soon-To-Be-Eunuch.

Hermione: [frowns as if affronted] How do you know it's a _boy_?

Ron: Who would send you a diary like _that_?

Me: Umm.

Harry: You idiots. Voldemort sent it. [WE CRINGE] Voldemort, that bloody bastard, he's everywhere! You turn a corner, 'Here I am-- Voldemort!' [WE WINCE] 'OH, Voldemort, there you are!' 'Yes, I, Voldemort, have come to wreak havoc!' [WE SIGH DESOLATELY] 'Oh, VOLDEMORT, come to kill us, have you! BETTER YET, send Ginny a DIARY! You old bat VOLDEMORT, you've used that TRICK before!'

[Note for future: Harry tends to get a little overexcited about his dark lord.]

Hermione: [still cringing] Oh, don't be ridiculous Harry. It's not [shudder] V-Voldemort. Ginny? Do you have any clue who it might have been? Secret admirers, perhaps—

Ron: Ha! My sister--secret admirers? _You_ stop being ridiculous, Herm; my sister isn't like that.

Hermione: Isn't like what?

Ron: She doesn't attract men, that one. Probably defective, but we kept her anyway. [Looks thoughtful.] It was most likely Dumbledore who sent it, anyway.

Harry: [Having calmed down] Yea. Like he sent me my invisibility cloak, _anonymously_.

Hermione: But Harry, that was your dad's. He was just passing it on, as he should.

Harry: So? Maybe the diary was Mr. Weasley's. You don't know that it wasn't.

Ron: Maybe it's a special diary. [Squints eyes] Can't believe my father would hold out on me like that, and give it to Ginny.

Hermione: What do you think about all this, Ginny?

Me: Um.

Ron: Do you reckon its worth over a galleon, this?

Harry: [scratching his head] I dunno…

Hermione: Honestly, who _cares_?

The verdict was that I was to write in it. I think they are all quite batty and possibly in on this whole trick in the first place. Git Ron would do it. Nervous Harry might, too, if persuaded at a vulnerable moment. Hermione…Hermione probably hates me anyway, because I refused to be in her little elitist club.

Hermione thinks that I am too quiet, and that a diary is a good way to process your thoughts. Ron told her I didn't like to think. I should have socked him.

The point is that I will do no such thing. Write, I mean.

Which, coincidentally, is exactly what I'm doing right now.

I think they rather think of me as a dog.

November 29 

Once upon a time there was a little wallflower named Ginny Weasley. She disliked most people, for most people usually ignored her.

She thought the world was rampant with the disease that was Ignorance. Except that according to A Christmas Carol, Ignorance was a child. Each person had two children; Ignorance and Want. Which was ridiculous, because Ginny was still a virgin.

Sadly.

Never mind that, I am quite tired of talking about myself in third person.

A recollection of what has happened today in life:

Woke up. Ate breakfast. Ate chocolate. Ate homework. Ate Ron's homework. Ate Harry's homework. Tried to eat Hermione's homework, but she has it protected with anti-eating charms, damn her.

Then I rolled around bed for a while, reading Teen Witch Weekly. Although, I never understood the obligation that every teenage girl feels to read these trashy magazines relating to such non-important topics as, "How To Pluck Your Eyebrows: The Right Way!"

Is it the natural estrogen in all of us that compels us to do so? So, does that mean it also compels us to become bubbly airheads? I shall never understand, nor condone it.

But here's a gem: "How To Get A Boyfriend In Less Than A Month".

Yes, I am _quite_ sure this is foolproof, and that this is the one sure way to ensure yourself a hunk of love. Besides, a month is a long time. It should be, "In Less Than A Week". How come they don't have those owl order boyfriends? Not fair.

Still, there is no harm in reading, or exercising my literate abilities.

December 1 

Why do people feel the need to fritter their money away whenever it is December? I think they have fixed their mental clock to say, " December! Time to splurge!" Please, I would gladly take any money you spend on shopping and use it on a better cause.

Christmas has indeed become far too superficial to be the least bit tolerable. All the signs in Hogsmeade are so bloody propagandistic, proclaiming things like, "A diamond necklace for your girl! ON SALE NOW!" or "A sexy pair of boxers for your man! 30 % OFF ONLY UNTIL WEDNESDAY!" Right. And by next year, those gifts will be completely forgotten and left to mingle with dust in the closet, or something. Well, maybe not boxers. I suppose you wear boxers. So I guess that is practical.

But I am thinking it has become a law to go Christmas shopping. Or a fad. Or something. I hope it fades.

Anyway. This means a Christmas list. Double damn.

Harry: Book on paranoia.

Ron: Underwear. All of his have holes in them. Mum was always complaining about it, anyway. Bother.

Hermione: A "sewing machine" for her clothes making fetish. I heard it was efficient.

Yay, I am done. More sleep for Ginny.

December 2 

Ron is mad at me. Poor thing thinks I care.

He's angry with me, because I caught a cold from being out in the freezing cold with nothing but a thing robe on. I don't see why he has to get in a right state when _I'm_ the one who has to endure the burning throat, clogged nose, and burning fever. I hate fever the most. It makes me look like I'm blushing at _everything_.

For example:

Harry: Hey Ginny.

Me: Unnnh. (Face is furiously red from fever.)

Ron: (Shakes head.) Ginny, stop blushing at Harry. He's just saying hi.

Me: I'm not blushing! (Face turns redder from fever and indignation.)

Ron: (To Harry) She likes you.

Harry: (Looks smug.)

Maybe I'll lie here on my bed, writing my will. I can feel death pulling at me.

Oh, never mind. That was my scarf caught on the drawer handle.

December 3 

Due to an increase in temperature and a lack of precipitation, cold winds etc--

The snow has all melted, and I am officially in a bad mood.

In honor of this sad occasion, I have written a poem.

_If I can stop one snowflake from melting, I shall not live in vain. _

It sucks, doesn't it? You can tell me the truth.

December 4 

Hermione says it's not possible to die of boredom, but I tend to disagree. My boredom causes me to go into a sort of coma, lying abed very, very still. So still, that Ron stumbled upon my rigid body lying on the sofa and asked me if I was alive. Suspect he was disappointed when I blinked at him.

You _can_ go into a catatonic coma from boredom.

Ron is even more furious with me for scraping by with a 50% on my potions essay. He gave me his annual ' Big Brother' speech a little early. He told me then to stop focusing on men. Honestly! Me! Boys! HA!

Seriously, though. He could have just said, stop mooning over Harry, Ginny. Don't do this, Ginny. Do this instead, Ginny. You're a good girl, Ginny. Roll over and beg for a treat, Ginny.

Moreover, his advice would make more sense if I _had_ any boys to concentrate on. None seemed to be much interested in me, and really, it's sad that a girl of 16 hasn't even properly snogged a lad yet. Or any single person for that matter, but that's beside the point. Am I really so disfigured?

Or maybe, as I had always hoped, it's not me, but this school. Maybe something happened to all its inhabitants while I was not looking and turned them all into half-witted ignoramuses.

December 6 

My Life Problems:

1) Achieve expressing my opinions and thoughts out loud, to clear any misconceptions about me being shy. I guess that means I should yell more.

2) I'm flunking Potions.

3) People fail to understand me. I fail to understand them. It's a mutual problem.

4) I don't have a boyfriend.

5) My brother is a total ponce.

6) Boredom. Coma. I have to get rid of it. Soon.

7) No snow. Am not feeling the spirit of Christmas.

8) I need to figure out who gave this diary to me before I make like Harry and blame everything on Voldemort. Oh, God, I wrote his name on paper. SCRIBBLE IT OUT.

Right.

But perhaps the newest and biggest problem has only just risen.

Ever since the Self Discovery class was open to students who needed a little help and guidance in their personal and social life.

Ron has been begging me to join.

It is a fact of life that when your brother begs you to join a class such as Self Discovery, one is a hapless loser. The former statement verily applies to me.

Ron gave me a pamphlet on what this class was about. I don't need to read it. IT IS A GATHERING OF DROOLING HALFWITS WHO NEED TO BE FED BRAINS.

Ron: You're just in denial, Ginny.

And then he hands me my new schedule. Self Discovery 10:00-11:00' plastered on it.

9) Survive Self Discovery, and find myself a paper bag to wear over my head, which will be hanging in shame.

As the ancient and sage philosophers say: Life is a bitch.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Note that this story is already long completed. This would probably be the reason for the uncharacteristic fast updates. Also, thank you to all that have reviewed.  
  
**The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley**

Chapter: 2

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_December 7_

As I sigh for the umpteenth time in an infinitesimal second, I have come to the conclusion that I am suffering from chronic depression. Very much so, in fact. The cause of this condition is unfortunately, very apparent. One can only stand being stuck in a room full of lifeless losers before the influence gets to one's head.

A very good example of this: the boy who sits next to me in SD (that's self-discovery, you ninnies) tragically mistakes his own bogey as a sort of delicacy on a regular basis. He also seems to like to use me as a napkin, to which I try squeak loudly and duck. He looks confused by this. It's understandable, as napkins do not usually move on their own accord. I find myself straying from the point, however, so I will get back to what I was really trying to say.

I HATE MUCH.

And that is all there is to say on the matter.

_Later_

But you see? The worst part of it all, if one could pinpoint such a thing, is **Malfoy **(one who is incessantly bothersome and a general mar in human society). The albino sheep thinks he's the leader of our meat headed flock. He drips with such superiority, that he might as well wear a sign reading, ' WARNING: ELITIST GIT. MAY GIVE YOU URGE TO POUND HIS HEAD IN'. Perhaps I shall take the liberty of making it for him.

I've never seen a boy so deeply in love with himself. If I have chronic depression, he has chronic narcissism. It's beyond anyone's help, but there you are—that is why we are all here, in SD. For we are all helpless and suffering from incurable, long term things.

I mean, really, he opens his mouth and out comes something else about himself. ' _Are you sure we're supposed to be doing that? You certainly can't expect a Malfoy to partake in this undignified activity, can you?_' he says as he frowns a bit and continues to look down his nose at everyone. I swear I will do something rash. Like botch his body into four quarters. Then I can plead chronic insanity. Hurrah!

_December 10_

I cannot believe this monumental moment.

1) I have made a pseudo-friend.

2) I have made a fool of myself. Verily.

On the subject of number one: her name is Alette. I have spoken to her directly a few times in class. She is a dear child, albeit a little scatterbrained. It seems all of my company are not completely normal, but that is my curse. At least she doesn't hate me. Yet.

Anyway, I was trying to write her a note during class today, as most normal teenage girls do in class. Except perhaps I am not so skilled in the art of note passing, for I attempted to throw it behind me to where Alette sat, two seats behind. Have I ever told you of my horrible aim? One day I will tell you about the time that I accidentally knocked poor Mum's nose with the vase Grandfather gave her. I was going for Ron. It's the thought that counts.

But yes, since you seem to be wondering. It landed in the wrong lap: The lap of Mr. Narcissus himself, who happened to sit right behind me. Most likely breathing down my neck the whole time. I nearly peed my pants as I saw his lips curl, but refrained. Thank the Lord. There is nothing worse than very damp knickers and skirts.

Malfoy beamed, having acquired my note. I was mortified. But not as mortified as when the stupid whale raised his hand. Naturally, Professor Ritzenthaler called on him, looking a bit flustered at being interrupted during his long tirade of something nonsensical or another, like hygiene.

" Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" he gazed questioningly.

" I've found a note, sir," he said. My heart stopped beating.

" A note! Written in my class!" Professor Ritz clucked his tongue. Strangely enough, nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers more than a student not paying attention in his class. "Surely, someone is asking for a detention." He looked around the room for any heartfelt confessions. None. Malfoy continued, and I thought his face might break, the way he was smiling. Boy, what a git.

" I'm sure you'd like to know, as do we all, what it was that kept Miss—"

Like I would let him reveal my identity. I could not afford to have a detention. Reaching over, I used my hand to clamp the bugger's mouth shut. The effect was instantaneous. I wondered why I had not done this more often, when he talked too much. While his voice was muffled however, his face creased into a glare.

" Mmff gmmff!!!" he protested vehemently. Professor Ritz looked very nervous now.

" Er—Miss Weasley, I'm going to ask you to release Mr. Malfoy—"

I did as I was told. Burning red from embarrassment, and wondering what the hell I was thinking (or perhaps I was not, and therein lies the problem). I quickly made up another weak and lame cover. Oh, well.

" A bug," I lied. "It would have been unfortunate for Malfoy to have eaten a bug." I looked around. " It seems now, though, that the fly is gone. Good for him. Or her, as it could be."

I probably looked like a large, bright red Christmas bauble. Malfoy looked disbelieving, as well as the rest of the class. Professor Ritz absentmindedly nodded, before muttering, ' Very well, very well…." He returned to his teachings, forgetting all about the note. I thank any deity up there for his forgetfulness.

_And then_, I breathed.

But alas, the trouble was not over. Malfoy seemed discouraged for a while, but after class, as everyone else was filing out, I found Malfoy trying to sneak his way to Professor Ritz' desk with the note. Having another go, was he? I could play along to that. Really, I could.

For one: I blocked his way.

" Hello, Weasley," he regarded me in a bored manner. And how dare he! " Move." I did not.

" I said, 'move,'" he repeated.

" Where do you think you're going?" I asked.

" To inform Professor Ritz who wrote this note, naturally," he sneered at me. I fumed.

" You will not!"

" I'd like to see you stop me." I watched his pink lips move, in anger. And he tried to dodge me. But I acted fast yet again. I realize now that I have a lack of judgment, and should have rather accepted the detention. Something came over me. Perhaps a strange dust particle in the air.

Because I grabbed his annoying little face, and kissed hi

_Later_

Apologies. Writing about _that_ made me feel a bit faint.

After, well…'the kiss' was over (in a second, mind you—as soon as I realized what I was doing), I reeled back in disgust, as did he.

" Weasley!" he cried, aghast. I gaped.

" Oh, God! I'm contaminated!" I screamed.

" You?! I'll never get this filth off! If you've given me any of your sickly germs, I swear I'll tell father!"

" Well, it stopped you from tattling, didn't it?"

" What makes you think I won't go tell now?"

" If you do, I'll kiss you again." (I was lying.)

He was outsmarted then. (He actually believed me, the arrogant pansy.)

And we both went on our ways, feeling extremely dirty for even touching one another.

Must take multitudes of baths now and rub my lips raw. I swear I will never go within ten yards of him ever again. Never ever, ever, ever, ever.

No, really. I am quite serious this time when I say that I might be insane. Have you ever heard of Multiple Personality Disorder?  
  
_Even Later_

I can't believe I gave my first kiss to that overgrown chicken.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley **

_December 10_

A Box of Honeydukes Best Dark Chocolate: 10 galleons.

A Doughnut: One trip to the kitchen.

Another Box of Honeydukes: Another 10 galleons.

Amount of zits appearing on face the next day: Priceless (as well as countless).

I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate.

Screw it.

I must not indulge in chocolate, except when I am stressed.

And in that case, I wonder what the chances are of sending a house-elf to get me one of those scrumptious eclairs?

_Later_

Draco is continuing to give me the nastiest of looks. If looks could kill…well the point is that they can't, so there you go, Malfoy, you murderous cow.

And I _wonder_ why this sudden increase in animosity might be. Certainly not because I stained his perfect, pink little lips. Sometimes, I am truly wicked. And sometimes, I truly love myself.

Anyway.

I finally had had enough of his glares towards the end of class. One can only die so may times, even if it is quite symbolically.

So I fixed him an amused stare.

" What is it, Malfoy? Your boyfriend jealous some girl snogged you?" I snickered. He seemed to grow slightly pink. For a moment, I admit, I was jealous of the way his skin did not turn an absolute crimson color, the way mine seemed to do.

" Why, you!"

" Tell me which one it is, then," I continued recklessly. " Crabbe or Goyle?"

" Why, you!"

" _Both_, Draco? Surely not!" Oh, what giggles. Quick, someone give me a pat on the back.

Then, he proceeded to make a very odd noise between a strangled scream and a grunt.

As for me, I believe I have found a new hobby: Tormenting Draco Malfoy ©.

Oh, how our roles seem to have changed so perfectly.

Tra. La la.

_December 14_

I just had a frightful revelation. Due to my lingering too long on the subject of Draco Malfoy, I have not wallowed in self-pity for more than 48 hours.

This is not acceptable.

WOE. WOE. I AM A BRAINLESS DUM-DUM. I EAT PASTE.

Also as a reminder of my woebegone status, I repeat that I do not have a boyfriend—nor ever will have one—I have no friends or accomplices, I have no tact, I have no intellect, and I most definitely do not have a bosom.

I do have **cowardice** and an **F in Potions**, though. I hate inheritance. There's nothing fair about it.

_Later_

Felt awfully stupid in SD today. Professor Ritzenthaler should know not to call on me to answer a question. He should know that I am not that sort of girl. I am not into this 'participation' bit. Never the less:

" Miss Weasley! Please share with the class the importance of kindness."

I am blank. And then, I am wondering what kind of question that really is. I feel like I am in preschool again, and the teacher is telling us to sing songs. I wonder when we began started the unit on Friendship. I wonder a lot of things, except for the answer.

"…Miss Weasley?"

I continue to be blank.

" Oh, for crying out loud," Malfoy mutters from behind me. I resist the urge to sock him. " Father says kindness is a necessity to climb up the social ladder. Apparently, most people like you better when you show your kindness. Kind of silly, really, but if it works…" he added for measure.

Crabbe blanched.

" Is kindness a body part?" he asked quite seriously. A few students snickered at that. I was disgusted that even someone in possession of no brain would know about things like that…but I suppose Draco's taught him _things_…at night…in the dungeons…Oh, God, no. Don't stoop to their level, Ginny. Don't think about Malfoy bonking Crabbe and Goyle at the same time. And **especially**, don't you dare think about bondage.  
  
On with my story, though, now that I've fished my useless mind out of the gutter:

" Er--correct!" Professor Ritz commended, ignoring Crabbe. Even though Malfoy's answer really wasn't the best, was it?

And I, for one, was trying hard not to shout, ' Hypocrite!' at the top of my lungs. Malfoy, of all people, to preach to us about the importance of being nice to one another? In_deed_. There has never been a greater blasphemy.

But instead of telling him so, I whispered it.

" Hypocrite," I coughed in my seat.

" Excuse me?" came his angry reply. I turned around, feigning a look of innocence.

" Yes?" I fluttered my eyelids.

" Did you say something, Weasel?" he asked contemptuously.

" I said, 'cough'."

"You didn't just call me a hippo, did you?" I rolled my eyes. The poor boy needed hearing aids at age 17, or whatever age he was.

"You moron," I named him affectionately (not). "I called you a hypocrite."

"Am not, you filthy little rag!" Well, that's new. No one's ever called me a dirty piece of cloth before.

" You are, though," I told him reluctantly. I could tell no lies. His regarded me haughtily in response. I think he felt rather inferior.

" Well, I assure you I am not. I'm merely a diplomat."

"A sycophant, did you say?" I retorted smoothly.

He looked at me coldly. " You are impossible, Weasel."

" Glad to know, ferret."

And yes, I do find it odd that we were referring to each other as two animals of the same family. Very odd. An outsider might think they were pet names. Triple damn. Remind me to never call him a ferret again.

Even though he most undoubtedly is.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: It has been a while since I have updated. Had writers block. I promise you, the next chapter will be full of action. Because next chapter will be ball. Ooh, starting to talk like diary. Oh: If you review, I shall give you a cookie.

Disclaimer: Haven't I told you already? I don't own anything. 

December 17

Session with Hermione was stupid and pointless and tedious. She had fake glasses on. Quill in her mouth. Pad in hand. 

"Now, since I don't want you to feel inferior to my very psychiatric pencil, glasses and notepad, I'll give you glasses, a quill and a notepad too." She stated pompously in her customary and very annoying ' all-knowing' way. 

And she handed me a purple quill, a pink notepad and a pair of flimsy glasses. 

"I'm not feeling inferior, Hermione." I said calmly, throwing the glasses to the side. She clucked her tongue and began jotting down squiggly notes on her notepad. 

"Of course you are feeling inferior—and I'm here to help you get rid of that feeling." She sympathized. 

"That would be great—except I'm not feeling inferior." 

"Of course." But it didn't really look like she understood. I had the sudden urge to knock on her skull. 

"No, _really_, Hermione, I'm fine. There is nothing wrong with me!" I threw my hands up and grinned really annoyingly, just the way most cheery and normal Gryffindors did. She just blinked at me for a couple of moments and said, ' Interesting.' Then she jotted down more notes. I craned my neck to see what she was writing, but she quickly stuffed the notepad under her bum. Quite weird. 

"Calm down, Ginny." She said. 

"But I am calm." I replied blankly. 

"I told you, I'm here to _help_." She repeated. 

"I'M CALM!!!!" I bellowed (yes, bellowed), causing her hair to blow away from her face. She had this odd, strained look on her face-- the look adults get when they're really trying to be patient with their dog when it's crapped on their new carpet. 

"Good." Was all she said. Taking a deep breath, I sat on the reclining chair that was set up in her room (she was head girl, surprise, surprise!), and while I did, I dangled my legs—it's quite fun to do, you know. Hermione blinked dumbly.

"Why're you dangling your legs like that?"

"It's fun."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Uh huh. Weird hobby you got there. Very interesting." She chewed on the end of her quill. I don't think she understands. You see, her problem is the fact that she believes there is a serious and important reason for all our actions, no matter how trivial they may seem, and she goes on and analyzes things. Like for example, Harry has this odd way of blinking one eye as if he's awfully tired—and well, I remember Hermione and Harry having a huge row about it, Hermione always shouting something like, ' Just TELL me what's wrong with your eye!" And Harry would just blink and have this look on his face as if he were sucking on sour lemons. It's uncomfortable and unsettling, but more than anything, it's annoying.

"So, moving on. Why are you so stressed, Ginny?" she asked. And my face dulled to the Oh-no-not-this-again look. The age old question. But already, I was really very tired of all her silly little analyzing and her neat little handwriting on her pad, so I didn't care. 

" Because I am uglier than a cockroach, and I need to go live in a toilet." I replied monotonously, staring off into space as if I only had half a brain. Hermione's hand was flying across her pad. 

"Interesting. Is that all?" She asked cheerfully. I shook my head.

"Nope. I am also very dumb, and I need to dig up a dead body for a brain donation." I managed to keep a straight face through this entire crazy, loony, stupid talk, and I think that I will become an actress and conniver when I grow up. I will play sneaky, under cover, seemingly-but-not-really-dumb characters who are actually quite beautiful. And the best part about this little act was the fact that Hermione bought it all, the poor cat, and she kept nodding her head like those silly little figurines that muggles have, the figurines that have the really big heads. Dad has a few.

"I see…" Hermione muttered, still writing, and her voice was all tragic as if someone had died. I nodded calmly.

" I am so ugly and dumb that I will never have a boyfriend, and I will go marry a toad, who will not turn into a dashingly gorgeous prince even if I snog him, tongue and all." I said despairingly, my hands covering my face as if I were hiding my tears, when I was actually stifling my loud and abnormal giggles. 

"Oh, poor dear…you really are feeling inferior, aren't you?" she clucked her tongue at me, though I'm sure she was half-preening at the fact that she had been right. But she wasn't right, and she doesn't know it. Ha.

"Is this about Harry, then?" She asked suddenly. I looked up, face flushed from laughing. 

"What?" I asked in a dazed little voice. Hermione cleared her throat. " Sorry. I said: Is this about Harry, then?" I didn't answer, because I was too busy trying not to glare at her, because Hermione, though she wasn't empathic at all, and very insensitive, she really wasn't that dumb, and she was better off then me—so if I glared at her, she would either ask me why I was glaring at her and analyze that, or she would tell Ron, and Ron would glare at me and ask me what was wrong.

"Oh, it is about him, isn't it?" She crooned, scribbling on her pad again. I didn't say anything, because I really didn't care what she thought of me anymore, and if I let her analyze me all she wanted, she would let me go sooner. 

"I have your results." She announced. I looked at her, brow raised, and I knew I looked really confused. She finally handed me the pad and let me read it. 

Ginny Weasley is feeling inferior for many reasons. She has low self-confidence, and needs to be supervised constantly, because I fear she may be suicidal. She must either confess her feelings for Mr. Potter, or else move on, and I mean, really move on, or her heart will break. She must express her feelings more often to Hermione, and she will feel much better. 

I blinked once, twice, thrice, and grinned as I thought about throwing the pad and chewed quill at Hermione Granger. But I controlled myself, because I had much self control. Grinning like a monkey on drugs, I jumped up from the chair and shook Hermione's hand. 

"Hark! I am free! Brilliant! Splendid! I am no longer inferior, and I am no longer ugly, dumb or in love with Harry Potter, because I have moved on! No more inferiority!" I danced and wiggled and kept on grinning. Then I ran out of the room and retched in the toilet. 

Now the exciting and enticing and kinda-scary-maybe-its-a-stalker news: It was after another boring Self-Discovery class, whence we were assigned homework, which happened to be, ' What I Want To Be When I Am Grown Up', when I was gathering my things. Malfoy had been really annoying, sticking his nose into other people's business, and being smart and un-ugly looking. I'm not jealous of him—that's not possible; because I am of the opposite gender, see? 

Anyways, he was sending a nasty look toward me, something like, ' I-hope-someone-puts-you-through-the-quidditch-hoops-and-you-get-stuck-in-them-because-of-your-large-arse', though I'm not sure if he really meant it. Must ask him some time when we are on friendlier terms (when pigs fly, perhaps?) if I really have a large arse. After he sent me that look, he walked past breezily and I started coughing because obviously, Malfoy had changed his cologne to something really putrid, and it smelled like rotten potatoes after pigs had rolled all over them. It was quite horrendous, so, I, being the nice girl that I am, stopped him and asked him what cologne he was wearing. 

"What do you mean, Weasley?" He asked, one eye narrowing. I shrugged. 

"You smell funny." I replied simply, trying not to lose my temper since I was so much better than him and needn't get angry at such a lowly being.

"Oh, that's disgusting Weasley!" he cried, nose scrunching up like an accordion. " Don't go around sniffing people!" I grew flushed at his somewhat perverse statement and I hated myself at the moment.

"Ha. You look like a Weasel who attempted to turn itself into a tomato, and only half succeeded." He guffawed, pointing to my head. So immature. Then, his eyes did this funny flashy thingy and he walked off. But even though he did make me feel lower than dirt, as he was walking away, I saw him sniffing his robes and I could see his eyes starting to water, and his mouth was doing this lurching thing that you do when bile is rising out of your throat. Haha. I am Ginny Weasley, and my nose is never wrong.

Here's the thing: After Malfoy left, I dropped my quill for some reason, and I noticed a piece of parchment left on the floor. I picked it up and realized that it had writing on it. 

It said, ' _Are you writing in your diary???'_

Isn't that terribly frightening? I searched the pages of my diary already, and there isn't a single place where a page had been ripped away, so it couldn't be some evil-but-kinda-good-looking-wannabe-dark-lord trying to play with me…

So, I'm guessing someone sent this diary to me for some odd reason. Maybe they did it because they liked me. Maybe it was because they wanted to scare me. Or maybe, they just did it because it turned them on, and they liked me. You know, there are a lot of weird people in this world, and a lot of them have eccentric fetishes. And this person just happened to get horny over a girl who wrote in diaries. Ugh.

Or maybe, the person who sent it to me is evil and is stalking me, and I'm just too dumb and ugly to know it.

Sigh. Hermione's asking me if I was the one who had thrown up in the girls' bathroom. I have to go scrub the toilet now. 

Hehe. I am evil. Stole Lavender's rouge lipstick that makes her look like a prostitute and wrote on toilet seat and on the wall above it.

_'When your sitting on the john, and the toilet paper's gone, be a man—use your hand. —your friendly tree conserver.'_

Things To Do:

1) Become smart

2) Do everything I have ever wanted to do before I kick the bucket. 

3) Find ways to make self prettier

4) Really, really become outgoing. Seriously. Not kidding.

5) If all else fails, or if the Lazy Bug kicks in, find new paper bag to put over head, since I lost the other one. 

6) Find out who sent me diary.

December 19

Have remembered my plan to become smart, after momentary brain lapse from Hermione's tiring session. Remembered the flimsy glasses she gave me, and I remembered throwing it away to the side. Went back into Hermione's room and searched around for them, but alas, they were gone! 

"Ginny! What are you doing, child?" Hermione found me. I smiled awkwardly.

"Tag! You're it!" Then I ran out of the room. 

But eventually, I found a pair of Harry's old glasses and punched the glass part out of them. So, I guess I shouldn't call them glasses? I should call them rims. 

I want to go to a loony bin right now.

December 20

Life is hell. Ooh, surprise. I love surprises. Except when they just jump right at you, without _any_ notice. 

No, really—life is hell, and I am Persephone, Hades' unwilling and miserable wife. And because I am his wife, I am unwanted, and Hades won't let me go frolic with anyone else of the opposite sex. 

Hades is Ron, if you haven't guessed. And he thinks he's God Almighty—and his skull is really thick, and he lost his brain in the cabbage patch my mum dropped him in a few years back. Poor, evil, bastard-y guy. I feel sympathy and anger for him at the same time. 

I'm shaking. I'm not scared. Just really, really, v. angry. _Tres_ angry. Will kill Ron with tweezer that I use to pluck out my eyebrows. Anything is lethal weapon when you're smart. Wait, I'm not smart.

Who the hell does he think IS???? He's forbidding me to look pretty and dashing in my sexy dress while he goes off to flirt uselessly, being the freckled, re-headed Weasley that he is. Oh, wait…. How am I suppose to become outgoing with Ron's big nose in the way? 

Oh, but I, being Ultimately Evil and Cunning, have already devised a plan. The perfect plan. I cannot find tweezers, so murder is not answer. Will not look good with blood all over robes. 

I shall scare everyone. EVERYONE!!!! 

Wait, on second thought—Ron can't be Hades. I hate incest, for I am a girl who has morals. Although the greek gods and goddesses did marry their siblings often times. Maybe Neville? No, Neville is too un-evil to be an evil ruler doomed to his demise with his equally doomed wife. Ooh, Draco Malfoy qualifies. I can just see it now.

RANDOM SERVANT OF HELL: Customer # 10024923 has arrived, sir.

DRACO: Name?

RANDOM SERVANT OF HELL: Vo—Vo--Bloody hell, I just _refuse_ to say his name, sir!

DRACO: Do not tarry, fool, for I am an evil and busy man, who has many evil deeds to accomplish! 

GINNY: :_sigh_ : You know, Hades doesn't have to be evil. Just kind of…gloomy and sullen. 

DRACO: Shut up, dear wife. 

GINNY: Oh, how nice of you.

RANDOM SERVANT OF HELL: I'm _waiting_…

DRACO: Ah, just take the poor bloke to the Room Of Pretty Flowers Designed For Dead And Dispirited Evil Overlords Overthrown By Stupid Scar Heads. They'll welcome him there. 

RANDOM SERVANT OF HELL: Yes, sir. :_wanders off_ :

DRACO: Hey, Persephone?

GINNY: Ginny will be fine.

DRACO: Do you remember that one time, when I wasn't so evil and powerful, when you kissed me? And I was like, ' You kissed me!'? 

GINNY: Always the one to be blatant and painfully obvious. 

DRACO: Yea, well—I knew you loved me ever since then, so no need to thank me for snatching you away from your mom. In fact, I received the thank you note just yesterday. Something about ' I am so grateful…Did not have enough money to feed all…Thank you for taking what's-her-name off your back…'

GINNY: Oh? So why do we still have four seasons, smarty?

DRACO: Go ask your mother.

GINNY: I hate you.

DRACO: No, you don't. Think about it.

Evil git. 

Ok, now, enough bantering—I shall tell you my evil plan to get back at Ronald Arthur Weasley. 

On the night of the ball, I will make like Zorro. I will be cloaked in black, and shall be so well disguised that people will say, ' Oh, person who is anyone but Ginny Weasley, save us from your wrath!' But I won't. No one has ever been really nice and sane to me so I won't spare anyone. I will also be practicing an accent to disguise my voice. Maybe I am not dumb. Who knows? 

I'm wondering though, where am I supposed to find a black cloak worthy of my entrance? I can't sew if my life depended on it. If I attempt to, I'll probably end up sewing myself. 

Ah, well. Enough brilliant thinking for one day.

Eh, what was that? What did Ron do? If I didn't make myself clear…_sigh_, he is forbidding me to go to the Christmas Ball because he says I've been acting strange, as if I'd been ' prancing about with some hoodlum'. So he says I shan't go. I would write to mother and straighten this out, but I think it's about time Ron knew just how dangerous and menacing Ginny Weasley could be.

Alas! On with Ginny Weasley's Evil Plan of Evil Deeds To Revenge Evil Students Of Insanity! 

December 22

_What I Want To Be When I Am Grown Up_

_I want to be a writer._

That's all I have so far. Ginny Weasley: An aspiring writer. 

I don't think these glasses are making me smart. I thought they worked, however…

I was sitting in Self-Discovery, and we were talking about anger management. We watched something called a video, where there's this funny box with a glass covering, and then pictures flash in front of you. There was a lot of geeky looking muggles who smiled at you and told you that it was no good to make fun of people and pick fights. I looked at Malfoy, but he was busy looking evil and…cool.

They said that you should take a walk when you were angry, and wait until you calmed down, then go back and analyze the problem. State your needs. If you ask me, it was all quite stupid, because a nice right hook in the nose would take care of the job and you wouldn't have to go jogging anywhere. Then the teacher asked us a question after the video.

'Why is it important for you to calm down before you face your problems, and not look to violence and bullying for the answer?' He asked. Everyone was silent. Draco, I'm sure, would've answered, but there would be too much snickering and shouts of, ' Hypocrite' and ' Oh, the irony…' 

So I raised my hand, pushing my glasses back up my nose like I had seen Harry do countless times. 

'Yes, er…' He looked down at his scroll, his eyes all squinty. I felt miffed that he didn't know _my_ name. Poor soul. 

'It's Ginny, you dolt.' I said( not the 'you dolt' part). 

'And I think it is important for you to calm down before you face your problems, because,' Here I gulped. ' Punching someone in the nose is only going to cause more trouble and make the other resent you even more. You won't earn respect or a sense of understanding or agreement from your opponent either. It isn't fair for you to get what you want, which is why you have to work towards a common goal—to compromise and get a little of what both of you want. This leaves both parties relatively happy and leaves you bruise free.' I thought my answer was quite witty, and the teacher must have thought so too, because he stopped adjusting his toupee and beamed at me. 

'Yes, yes, great answer, Miss…' He consulted the scroll again. ' Miss Weasley.' He grinned at me some more, and I just pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose again, blinking and smiling pompously. I glanced backwards towards Malfoy and saw him looking a bit pouty, which served him right. Overall, I thought it was a good class. 

Then after class, I purposely shoved past Malfoy, but only to see if he had taken my insinuated advice and changed cologne. He hadn't, and I wheezed loudly and dropped all my books. Bummer. 

'Watch it Weasley.' He spat with contempt ( good word, eh?). I just glared back at him as I began to pick up my books. 

'You still smell, you know.' I commented rather nicely, I thought.

'Oh, that's _rich_, Weasley—me, a Malfoy, smell?' He scoffed. I stood up, and pretended to think.

'No, you're right. You reek.' _Thank you, thank you very much._ But he, apparently, wasn't listening, or he just decided to ignore the brilliant and oh so witty comment, because all he did was squint his eyes until I could barely see them. He leaned closer to my face, and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. But then he poked a finger through my rims and frowned at me. 

'Why have you got fake glasses on?' He asked, obviously confused. I sighed and rolled my eyes as if I knew something he didn't know. 

'Because.' I answered. He looked at me like I was mental. Then he walked away. He didn't sniff himself, though. 

Hm. 

I still haven't found any material for my cloak, but I'm going to Hogsmeade tomorrow anyway, so I may find something there. Or if I can't find anything, Malfoy has a lot of really nice black cloaks…

Things To Do:

1) Everything. 

A/N: Review.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm horribly sorry for the delay. I mean, really, how long as it been? But life has been busy, and inspiration has taken a long vacation…but there's a lot of D/G action in this chapter, and I will try to update sooner form now on!!! 

**Note:** Excuse the strike /strike html tags, but when I chose the strike through effect on Word, it wouldn't show up when I loaded the file into ff.net so, there had to be some way to get my point across…bear with it, ok?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, except, maybe, Draco's putrid cologne. 

December 23

Wow. My jaw is currently resting on the floor, in awe of all the things that have happened.

Whether it is good or not, you get to decide—but just in case you want to keep your sanity, you may want to not read this entry.

You have been warned.

Skulked around Hogsmeade. I realized at last minute that I did not have enough pocket money, as King Git (see Ronald Weasley for more details) stole it from me to buy a present for his dahhhling girlfriend. Decided I would have to borrow without permission but with every intention of giving it back. (A/N: An extra cookie to whoever first tells me where that's from. Easy enough, no?)

Bah. The only thing that restrains me from strangling that boy is the knowledge that tomorrow night…only one person will be laughing! And that person will be me! Fool of fools. 

So. 

Was v. cold today, wore about 10 layers of clothing, managed to look like a burnt marshmallow. I waddled about the streets and slipped about 129 times on the stupid, stinking ice. Saw many people looking at me funny, but that will all change soon. Feels soooo good to know that I will get my revenge on all these peppy, stereotypical, annoying, bird-brained, asinine, people. 

I walked into Gladrag's, hoping that the old geezer who worked there would mistake me for an overgrown raven and would not find anything suspicious when I flew out with an equally dark material in my beak. 

Wahahahha. Erm.

I was creeping around as quietly as I could, secretly guffawing because there was no stopping me now, and because I was oh-so clever and that I had actually achieved snatching intellectuality!!!!!—

When, of course, I ran into The Ferret. He still smelled bad. He still looked too un-ugly for my tastes. He was still tall and blonde and gray-eyed and definitely smarter than me.

" Shove off, Weasel. Go sniff some coins off of someone else." He was still mean.

But I cared none about that. Because I was right—he did have some very nice, black cloaks.

I am quite sure my eyes glistened and glittered and sparkled as I eyed his very black, very expensive, very big, very perfect cloak.

And I knew it had to be mine. 

" Er, hello Malfoy." I inched towards him, breathing through my mouth. Once I got his cloak, I would have to beat it around on the streets, send it through the sewage, hand-wash it with the strongest of magical cleaning solutions, have the house-elves launder it 5 times before I would wear it. Bleegh. 

" What are you doing?" He asked me, looking at me as if I had grown 5 more heads. 

" Oh, nothing. Just glad to see you." I grinned toothily, a mistake on my part. Shouldn't have acted to cheerful. Damn me. 

Never the less, I scooted even closer to him, until I could touch his cloak—and then with my fingers, I patted it slowly, grinning even wider.

" This is a _nice_ cloak." I muttered smilingly. "Yes, it _is_." 

" Er. Weasley?" His voice sounded tentative. " Are you feeling quite alright??" 

" Oh, yes, I am!" I replied. " But you know how I could feel even better?" I asked innocently, now plucking at his coat. I licked my lips eagerly. The cloak…it would be mine soon…

He looked rightly uncomfortable. Bwahaha.

" Weasley, if you're trying to put moves on me—"

I blinked. 

" Moves? On you?" I asked incredulously forgetting about my plan for a moment. As if! EWWWW!!! I immediately had the notion to just run for it…But the cloak! The cloak! I had to get the cloak if it was the last thing I did…

Trying to keep my lunch from hurling out of my mouth, I struggled to keep my face pleasant. 

" Oh, but of course--" I choked a little here. " _Draco_…" I sidled up to him even more, until I was practically pressed up against him, my eyes hooded, lips pouting in what I hoped was seductive. Now…all I needed to do was to unhook the clasp of his cloak, so it would slip off him…then to break away, grab it, and run…

Easy enough. 

I placed my hands on his shoulders, slowly moving down to caress his chest.

" You're just so _sexy _and irresistible, Draco…" I cooed, talking slowly and throatily. I looked up at his face and saw in disgust that he was smirking just a little. 

" I _know_ I am, Weasley." He bent down and whispered in my ear. His breath was hot, and it tickled my spine of all places, for a reason unknown.

I felt all hot and bothered all of a sudden, and my knees were beginning to feel like jello--and then I had my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, my mouth crashing down on his lips as my breaths turned into pants…

I was kissing him.

Him.

Malfoy.

I WAS KISSING MALFOY!!!!!!! 

A red alert, I'm sure, went off in my head, but you know, I was a bit distracted. As soon as we began sucking face in a grotesquely passionate manner, he whirled me around (somehow, his arms had managed to wrap around my waist…and somehow, I had allowed it) and pinned me against the nearest wall.

I swear, we made the weirdest noises together. A sort of moaning and groaning sound that I'd rather not go into detail describing, thank you very much.

You want to know the worst part, though? The part worse than actually initiating the kiss for the sake of his nice cloak? 

All through the snog, I was running my hand through his hair and my mind was going haywire, for it was thinking of Malfoy as truly the hottest, sexiest, most handsome boy at Hogwarts and ohgodIwanttodohim. My brain had turned to mush, and I almost forgot about my main objective.

Almost, being the key word. My head will still hang in shame, though.

Because, see, while I was in a state of absolute Malfoy bliss, there was suddenly the revelation in my head that this was NOT what I had come here to do, and that is how I was reminded of the cloak. _Mmmph_ing against strikeDraco/strike Malfoy's mouth, my hands left his strikesoft/strike slimy, disgusting hair and began fumbling around with the cloak.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), he took this as a sign that I was impatient to get in him unclothed and in bed. Because I could hear his deep, throaty, chuckle echoing in my own mouth. Eck. 

After a long tussle with the clasp, I finally managed to get it undone, and it fell away in my hands. 

SUCCESS!!! Now, there was the rather difficult business of breaking off the kiss, strikewhich was especially hard when both parties were enjoying it immensely./strike

But that day, luck seemed to favor me. Just then, the old geezer that worked there must have decided that we were not two abnormally large ravens mating in her store, but two annoying students from Hogwarts, making out.

" You two! Ger outter here—take it somewhere else, ye hear?" I swear, that is how she talked. But god bless her innocent soul, even though she was very much about to throw her shoe at us.

Looking very flustered, we sprung apart from each other, and the old lady walked away.

I shied away from him immediately. Now that his lips weren't bestowing their hypnotic, brainwashing, knee-shaking powers on me, I could focus on what I had in my hands. 

He must have noticed too, because he looked down at it with an amused smile on his face.

And now, looking up at him, I realized how much taller he looked, and that he definitely looked more handsome than he had 15 minutes ago. 

NO! Stop these insane thoughts!!! To hell with Malfoy!!

" Er—I have to go!" I blurted loudly, blushing furiously. Stupid kiss had done funny things to me. I was probably scarred for life.

" Oh…" He looked surprised. " Oh, alright, then…" No insults, no pompous smirks, nothing. I realized then that the kiss had done funny things to him too. 

Dear lord. Things were screwed up, and it was all my fault. Feeling that this was _not worth it_, I held out the cloak in front of him, offering him to take it back.

I mean, seriously. Not going through all of this for a cloak. I would just use something…else… 

I waited in gloom as I waited for him to snatch it back. But 5 seconds later, the cloak was still in my hands.

" No." I looked up at him. Perhaps he had gone crazy. Maybe his brains were addled. Hel-lo, stupid Draco, TAKE your expensive cloak that I risked my neck to get!! TAKE IT NOW, AND LAUGH, YOU IDIOT!! 

" You keep it." My eyes bugged out unattractively. 

And then he did the most clichéd thing ever, the thing that all the main heart-throb characters do in stories—he walked away from me, looking as cool and mysterious as ever.

And then I did the most clichéd thing ever, the thing that all the main girl characters do when they have a heart-throb they just might like—

I borrowed (with no intention of giving it back) some money from Hermione (she always comes to Hogsmeade)—

And then I bought Draco Malfoy a Christmas present. 

I fear life will never be the same again.

Things To Do:

Huh? Wha? I don't know! I can't think right now!

strikeOh my god, Draco is such a great kisser I think I'm going to die!/strike

Come on, Weasley, you need to keep your head on straight…focus…focus…

Ok, I got one.

1) Stop thinking about HIM!

A/N: Review, and make my day.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed!! You really love me, you really do! *bats eyelashes* A long one here, as a treat—and guess what?! MORE SNOGGING! Extra cookies to **BouncingFerretsR.A.O.K**. and **Vanns** for the correct answer: Pirates of the Caribbean (3 ^_^)

More News:

I FINALLY got a livejournal: If you want to add me, feel free: my username is seven_years. 

I also have a greatest journal with a same user name and with the user name super_trouper. Hee. 

Also note change in pen name. The other day, I logged in and stared long and hard at my pen name, and it came to me: I was no longer Medusa. I was Medusa4. Meaning I was not The Medusa. I was Medusa + number. I did not like that. So I changed it.

Enough rambling. On with the show!! 

-+-

December 24

Okay. Okay.

I'm gonna freak right out. 

(A/N: Another cookie to those who know where this is from. *audience groans* What?) 

I mean, really, really, freak right out. 

Why, you ask?

Well, let me ask you a question first:

Do you possess HALF A BRAIN CELL? You do? Then maybe the following should have registered into your hopefully less-than-empty skull:

1) The Yule Ball is TONIGHT. 

2) My brilliant plans are stuck in blueprint.

3) Usually, when one forms a plan, it's meant to be acted out. No such thing happening as of now. 

4) Am severely distracted, to the point where I fear I may be suffering from schizophrenia. 

5) To make like Zorro, or to not make like Zorro, that is the question.

6) Why does he have to look so handsome in all his Malfoy glory?? Each minute that passes, I am more sure of him being a great, blonde Adonis from the heavens, than the former known ferrety git.

Not only that: But I should have known it was [strike]too good to be true[/strike] very suspicious from the beginning. It's very likely that all of the Malfoy-kind are somewhat akin to Veela's and Dementors—their looks lure you to them, and their deadly kiss absolutely addles your brain to the point of no return. 

Say it with me: St. Mungo's is my home. 

I leave you now to further debate these problems with…myself.

Later

Considering throwing away my to-do list. Defeats purpose of to-do list if I'm not able to do them.

1) Stop thinking about HIM! 

Definitely not achieved. 

I didn't really get far debating said problems with…myself. Instead, I found myself wrapping His present. Sigh. 

Then Ron barged in. 

" Who's that for?" He barked. 

" Draco Malfoy." I said airily. Even his name sounded heavenly to my ears.

What was the point of lying? My life was probably doomed. I waited for him to explode, yelling at me for giving heartless people Christmas presents.

But he just looked at me for a moment--and then started laughing.

" HAHAHAHAHAH!!!!" He was practically crying, now, his freckles practically dancing on his cheeks. " Oh, that's a good one, Gin! Really, you must entertain us with your humor sometime!" Then he walked away, mumbling something that sounded like " A present for Malfoy…oh, honestly, that sister of mine…what a joke…" 

Is that really what I am? A joke? Because I may have some unnatural feelings for a ferret, both literally and figuratively? 

Ron had said it: I was merely a tool for entertainment, nothing more. No personality, no nothing. (And certainly no knowledge of grammar either.)

Malfoy will make fun of me endlessly for kissing him, then accuse me of having a crush on him. I will be embarrassed. That is why I am doomed to die soon. 

Maybe, perhaps, I would go through with my plan as I was going to, my last (or maybe first?) great escapade before my death. People would at least remember me.

I'll wear that cloak with shame and…spike the punch or something.

Although I reckon I probably stink worse than the cloak does.

_What I Want To Be When I Am Grown Up_

_[strike]I want to be a writer.[/strike]_

_Won't live that long._

Even Later

My devotion, determination, and eagerness to get revenge on the pathetically pathetic Hogwarts student is gone. 

Even Later Still

Oh, if only I could kiss him again…one…last…friggin…time…

It would be my last wish…

Gurgle.

Must not think these impure thoughts. What would Ron, Hermione and Harry say? 

Ron: Ginny! How could you?! That dirty bastard Malfoy? Why, I ought to kill him! And you too!! Grr, I will now gnash my teeth and turn very red.

_Hermione: I think you need professional help. This is beyond my area of expertise. I think there was something similar to this in Hogwarts, A History._

_Harry: S'not fair! I'm supposed to be the hero! I get chased around by various evil-doers, not to mention that old fart Voldie, the scar on my head is practically the 8th world wonder for everyone to ogle at, I'm deprived and abused, AND I'LL TALK IN CAPITALS NOW BECAUSE I'M ANGRY! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO LIKE **ME**__, GINNY! NOW I DON'T EVEN DESERVE A FAN-CLUB, DO I? _

On second thought. Am now fantasizing…

Cannot record fantasies, very NC-17 as it includes such things as **CENSORED** and **CENSORED** and a bit of **CENSORED**. 

Greefurturgle.

A Lot Later

That's it!!!

Oh, for a dying woman, I am brilliant! 

I will spike the punch (after asking Fred and George about the charm used in Puking Pastilles), watch in vague amusement as half the student body pukes over themselves. Yes, you all are that disgusting. 

Steer Draco away from the punch. 

Proceed to kiss him one last time.

Voila. There you have it. 

A Few Minutes Before The Ball

Ok. Am in my costume. In a pair of ridiculous breeches with a blouse—draped cloak over myself, pulled my hair up under big, feathered hat.

Tied mask to my face. I am sure I look very silly, but what does that matter now?

Uh-oh.

Time to go.

Wish me luck, diary. You seem to be the only companion I have. 

-+----+---+

Way Past Midnight.

Oh. 

My.

GOD.

I LOVE YOU GOD I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU AND IF I'VE EVER GIVEN YOU THE IMPRESSION THAT I WAS AN ATHEIST, WELL I WAS JUST KIDDING, HAHA!! YOU KNOW HOW FUNNY I AM!!! : - ) 

The events of this night (while not all were good) were…amazing. The following might explain why I'm back so late. I was…occupied.

Ready? 

Alright.

So I went into the Great Hall ready to sneak towards one of the corners and be left unnoticed. 

Luckily, most people were already busy dancing and otherwise flirting with each other. Absolutely atrocious, the things we humans do.

Slinked over to the food table and the humongous bowl of punch. Really, I could take a bath in it. AND probably fit Malfoy in there too. Not that I would, ahem. 

I stuck my wand out from under my robes and muttered the charm necessary to put my plan into action. Worked out perfectly, punch turned a purple color for a moment before restoring to its proper red color. 

Smiled complacently and backed away, waving at a few random people. 

Stopped waving when a girl came up to me, eyeing my costume and muttered, 

" This isn't a masquerade ball, you know." Snotty snot-face. 

" Oh, it's not? Then take off your mask—its rather horrifying." I sneered back. Score one for Ginny!!! 

Hung around the ball for a while longer, towards the edge of the Great Hall. Scary part was, a few girls approached me to ask me for a dance. Did I really look so masculine?? I declined politely, telling them that I had an incurable disease that prevented me from dancing. Then they looked rather affronted. Women are so strange.

Anyway.

I started grinning, because a few people were already bent over, hurling their dinners, and a few others were whispering to their partners that _all this dancing is making me feel a little nauseous_. Oh, no, dearies—its not the dancing. Muahahahahaha. 

Amazing how fast the epidemic spread. Dancing must make you awful thirsty. Pretty soon, half of the people there were either regurgitating or on the verge of doing so. The teachers, however ignorant they wished to be, couldn't deny any longer that something was definitely amiss. Teachers started rushing about, sending students off to the hospital wing, using cups to collect the barf ( eurgh) and generally trying to restore the peace.

Yea, right. Like they could restore peace, when it was I, Ginny Weasley, who wrought havoc! Ha. 

All the while, I stood in my little space looking innocently blasé. 

That is, until it hit me that I didn't know how much time I would have before the teachers would just close the ball. What if I never got a chance??

I spotted Him near the Slytherin corner, talking casually with his other Slytherin friends.

He looked [strike>]absolutely dashing[/strike] okay. 

I was most certainly NOT drooling, not in the least bit. Stupid, pompous, arrogant, unhygienic ninny. 

But…if I were, then I stopped soon. He was making his way towards the punch bowl. This was it: the moment of truth—the finale of my last night before my name was utterly tarnished. 

I looked up towards the ceiling, as if in prayer. Because, you know how religious I am. 

I walked swiftly towards the punch bowl, stopping him just in time—my heart pounded, thinking he would take a sip of the punch before I got there. (Despite what you may think, I was NOT about to snog a guy whose mouth tasted of upchuck). 

" Er…excuse me." I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, cup poised at his lips. Without further ado, I smiled apologetically at him and snatched the punch away.

" You…don't want to drink this." He glared at me.

" I think I rather do. Who the hell are you?" He demanded. Then blinked. " And give me my bloody punch back, git!" Oh, he was always so eloquent.

" I'm telling you now—you don't want to drink it." I insisted.

" Oh, don't tell me—" He sneered. " You spiked the punch with a charm that would make everyone puke, huh?" My eyes grew wide. Did he know??! No…he couldn't…lucky guess, the smart ass. 

" Oh, yea, yea. Right." I muttered hurriedly. I just wanted to get this over with **now**. " Come with me, Draco…" And with that, I took his hand (HEE!!!) and led him out of the Great Hall. I shot furtive glances at the teachers as I did, but there was no need to be sneaky—they were too busy with the whole puking bit.

" Where are you leading me? What do you want? How do you know who I am? Who are you??" Wow, he sure did ask a lot of questions. I led him to a corridor far, far away from the Great Hall, right below the stairs that would lead to Gryffindor Tower. There we stopped, and I turned to look at him.

I decided then that he was waaaay prettier than Harry.

" I spiked the punch." I confessed. He blinked at me. 

" _Okay_. Cool. Good job." He said monotonously. He stared at me as I stood there silently. " What, you want money? A pat on the back?" He suggested. 

Ha. As if. No, nothing quite as platonic, Draco dear. 

" No. You see…" I licked my lips. " You could say that my reputation after tonight…is absolutely ruined…my life is…over. In fact, my life has always been a failure…I just kept up a foolish hope that it could be redeemed…but now, I have come to realize the truth and said to myself—heck, why not end this little sucker with a big bang? So I went and caused all this chaos, and now wish for one thing before my figurative death." 

I took a deep breath, watching his speculative eyes carefully.

" A kiss." I braced myself for an outburst. Sure enough--

" _WHAT?!_" He was exploding. Jumping up and down frantically. His hair was flying in his face. 

" A…kiss…" I repeated slowly. My hands were wringing together anxiously. Okay, so he was going to refuse. I shouldn't have said that. I should have just grabbed him and kissed him. Kiss him, give him his present (stored beneath my robes) and run. 

" But…you're a guy!" He screeched. My face fell.

" Um…no, I'm not. I assure you." I said uncomfortably.

" Prove it." 

" Excuse me??!" I spluttered. " What, you want me to take my clothes off or something?" He seemed to consider this. He then shook his head. 

" So you're a girl?" 

" Obviously."

" And you want me to kiss you."

" Yes." I gritted my teeth. " So is that a yes or no? I'm kind of in a hurry." 

He seemed to be smirking now, after a brief moment's thought. I didn't like that smirk, although it was kind of sexy. He inched towards me slowly, his smirk widening with each step. 

" Silly girl." He said, his voice going down to a whisper. I panicked as my back touched the wall. Not good if I couldn't kiss and run.

" The first rule of snogging: You never ask." His face hovered mere inches above mine. My heart was pounding, my lips trembling. He licked his pink lips, gray eyes becoming hooded as they flitted over my mouth.

" If you want it; you _take it_."

And then he took my head in his hands and kissed me. 

Kissed, in every sense of the word. The word in the epitome of it's meaning: every sexual feeling and desire contained in this one action.

I mean, wow. This was _not_ a normal kiss. (Not that I would really know, since it was my second kiss).

If I had thought the first one was something—this one was phenomenal in comparison. My legs absolutely gave out—if he had not been supporting my weight, I would have collapsed clumsily to the floor. My heart was now beating so fast, that it almost _hurt_. 

To put it simply: We were on fire. 

I couldn't tell whose hand was whose, because our bodies were so well entangled with each other, and I know that at one point, I was struggling to unclasp his robe (this time, not to snatch them away and run), my mind telling me that no, it was not part of the plan to get past kissing. My NC-17 fantasies were supposed to stay just that—dreams.

But damn. He was great at snogging. He was a master at it. And I almost felt that it was a mistake on my part to wish for one more. His hair felt like feathers in my hands, and his lips like…sin. 

I knew that I would keep wanting more and more. Like a drug, it was probably addicting, not to mention _bad_ for me. 

And that was why. That was why I didn't notice. Being intoxicated by him, I didn't quite notice where _his_ hands were until it was too late. 

In the span of a second, he had whipped the hat off my head, and the locks of my red hair (damn it) came tumbling down my shoulders. Who would have guessed, my stupid Weasley hair betraying me?

I stood there, gaping at him with my swollen mouth. 

He stood there, gaping at me with his tousled hair. 

" _Ginny???!_" I felt my heart drop to the bottom of my stomach.

I made a move to run. There was no way I was staying around to hear him taunting me. Because he would never ever even consider liking me, and yesterday had been just a one time thing, and I really couldn't take it. 

So I poised my still watery legs to run—but his hands stopped me, probably wanting me to stay around for the torture.

He whirled me around, demanding me to face him. He untied the mask on my face, showing eyes that were probably brimming with tears. 

He looked determined, brows set in a slight frown. 

" You." He said softly, contemplatively. I bit my lip.

" Yes, me!" I struggled against his grip, but he was stronger than I thought.

" Why?"

" Oh, you don't _care_ about that—go on, just make fun of me! Aw, ickle Ginny has an ickle crush on the great Malfoy! Aw, what a loser, because everyone knows Malfoy would never like a Weasley, especially one who's stupid enough to fall for a Malfoy!" 

I was crying now, unable to stop the words spilling from my mouth, and I really, really wished stupid Malfoy didn't have to be here to watch me. On top of the mess I had gotten into, I probably _looked_ like hell. 

" Is that what it is? You **like** me?" He sounded incredulous. But at the moment, I could hear nothing but sneering in his voice.

" It doesn't matter. I'm going." I turned to make my way up the stairs, but he stopped me yet again.

" And you spiked the punch too? All just to snog me?" Why, oh WHY was he asking the blatantly obvious? I REALLY preferred to cry alone in my room, and not in front of him! The least he could do was save the shit for tomorrow, when I could be a bit more composed! 

" Yes!" I shouted as loud as I could. " Yes, Draco, I did all of that, okay! Now just let me GO!" I hung my head in embarrassment, letting my hair cover my face as I began to sob quietly.

" No." 

And let me tell you, it took me a moment for that single word to register into my mind.

Because practically succeeding that word, he was pressing me against the railing of the stairs, kissing me again with more ferocity than he had ever before—even though he knew who it was he was kissing, even though he knew _everything_!

And all of this became too mind boggling for one girl to handle, and I really wasn't one to protest at the current situations.

So…

I just snogged him right back, thinking of only one thing:

Maybe, just maybe—my life wasn't over.

-+-

A/N: Oh, whee!!! SNOG, SNOG, SNOG!! *coughs* Right. Nice, long chapter for ya'll. I'm thinking two more chapters after this one, hmm? Next time: Look forward to Ginny and Draco spending Christmas together. Yea, baby! 

And review!!! 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Finally a relatively fast update…it would've been out faster, but I had trouble with this chapter…turned out a little too fluffy for my tastes, but eh…whatever. If I'm good, the next chapter may be the last. Maybe an epilogue after that. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!!! 

Oh, and don't forget to check out my other **new** Christmas fic *shameless plug* 

If you have any questions or concerns e-mail me at aye_shamrocks@yahoo.com or leave a note at my livejournal or greatestjournal, username: seven_years

Disclaimer: Pssh. No, I don't own this.

The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley 

-+-

Around 12:00, Christmas Day

A brief recap of all that has happened since I awoke:

1) Got a note from Draco.

2) Met him outside after getting dressed.

3) Started to snog (but just a little, I swear!!!…)

4) Ron, Harry and Hermione came bumbling by.

5) (Ron) Started jumping up and down hysterically. Resembled red jumping bean.

6) Told _me_ to stop it immediately and go up to my dorm room. Told _Malfoy_ to lay off on me.

7) Both of us told them to shove it up their ass. Might have been offended by that.

8) Eventually ran upstairs nearly in tears at the injustice of it all. Vowed to get revenge, something worse than Puking Pastilles this time. Maybe murder. Killing Ron would be a favor to the whole world.

9) Currently taking magic marker and scribbling on all of Ron's pictures. His pictures very indignant about this. 

As you probably already figured out, since you all are quite intelligent, I am pissed off. The last sentence being somewhat of an understatement, of course. What am I supposed to do? To make that annoying rat I have the misfortune of calling brother see that he has absolutely no right to control my life, so why don't you worry about your own pathetic one? 

I swear, that boy is going to drive me to become a nun. 

12:15, Feeling Sneaky

Got another note from Sexy Blonde of mine. 

Surely, you don't want to spend Christmas with those abominable excuses for human beings. 

_Meet me on the roof of the Astronomy Tower at 7:00. _

_--D.M._

While this is really very charming, wonderful, fantastical news, I wonder about one thing:

Why at 7? Why can't it be now? What am I supposed to do for the rest of the day? 

Why is it such a beastly Christmas? 

1:00

I'm basking in solitude. Even arguing with dim Ron would serve to be more interesting than this. 

1:30

Maybe he doesn't like me. It's possible! It's not like he's never had a girlfriend before. He could very well go around snogging random girls without meaning anything. Maybe he's telling me to meet him at 7:00 so he can tell me that this is just a passing fling. Maybe he told me to meet him at seven o' clock so he could go on a nice Christmas date with some other girl and then come to me and leave me bawling.

Oh, the nerve of that little…

UGH!

2:00

Okay, so maybe I'm overreacting. But admit it, don't you think it's just the tiniest bit sad when a girl has nothing to do on Christmas except to write in her journal at about 30 minute intervals? Pondering to herself all the possible ways her life could go from having hope of being livable, to being living hell again? 

Yes, indeed.

It is very sad.

You should weep for me.

2:15

Word on the street is there will be a snowball fight outside an hour. I am pretty sure Ronald Weasley will be there. Therefore, I am not really inclined to attend this childish game.

Oh, who am I kidding? It's better than moping around here, filling up this entire diary. I WANT to be able to say I did something fun for Christmas.

I'll bundle myself up real good (with the excuse that I am just very, very cold) so I can avoid being noticed by Ron. His name is like bile on my tongue. 

6:00

Well.

That was time consuming. Which is a good thing, in this case. Luckily, Ron did not say a word to me. He may have noticed who I was, because only I am so inept at hurling chunks of ice at others. 

But you know how men are—getting so wound up in silly little competition. Honestly, you'd think it was the bloody apocalyptic war to end all wars. 

In other very important news, I fell down on my arse a fair few times. 

Very numb now. 

Things To Do:

1)Appear decent for meeting with Draco. (Prepare for the worst…damn it.)

11:50 

I take back all that I have said about this being a disappointing day.

Because this has been the most romantic Christmas ever. Because I think I may be in love… 

Draco Malfoy—not that you'd be reading this or anything—you somehow manage to make my life better with a single glance of your pure eyes (well, at least the last few days). 

So I'm standing in front of the mirror, dressed in my usual school uniform because I don't have ANY pretty dresses. (If only one of my brothers would become a cross-dresser…) I go up to the Astronomy Tower, expecting to come back real soon after he tells me how ugly I truly am and point out the giant growing zit on my forehead. Urgh. Each step I took was practically filled with dread, I thought—and this was bad news indeed, because I only got poetic on two occasions: 1) When I am head-over-heels in love. Something that has not quite happened yet (but may very soon.) 2) When I am living in a black and white world with nothing but gloom. And there was a third occasion, as I would soon find out: When I got drunk, but that's beside the point.

I finally reached the bloody place, and started climbing up the stairs that lead to the roof.

Then I reached the roof.

Then I saw Draco.

Then I nearly fainted. 

In the middle of the roof there was a table lavished with the most extravagant table cloth, sitting on top of it an elegant candelabra—and hot damn—food, more food, sparkling silver that nearly blinded me, wine, and crystal wine goblets! The whole of it illuminated by the glowing candles set in the middle simply completed it. Contrasting with the black night that hung thinly around us, I stared like a complete idiot. 

" What the hell?"

I was never too eloquent. Luckily, Draco seemed to take that as an insult. He smirked smugly, and gently took my arm before leading me toward one of the chairs at the end, pulling it out and motioning for me to take a seat. Which I did. Because I seriously thought I would faint at how romantic this was. 

" Y-You?" I sputtered incoherently. He took his own seat on the other side. 

" Yea." A million questions buzzed through my head, all of them eager to get out at once. So instead, I said something else.

" It's wonderful." And I think that's the first time I ever said that, and meant it. He shrugged modestly, to my own amazement.

" It wasn't much. I had the House-Elves help me. It was all them, really. I just sat back and ordered them around a bit." 

" Oh, but that's so thoughtful!" I gushed happily. " A candlelit dinner on the roof of the Astronomy Tower on Christmas! Why, you _are_ romantic, aren't you Draco?" I half-teased, knowing very well that he would scowl or otherwise disapprove of such thoughts. 

" Ew." He made a face. " Don't get too happy, Weasley—this is what I do for all the girl's that I've snogged at least twice. It's just all part of the Malfoy charm." I suddenly stared at his serious face. Every girl? So I was just a fling!! My heart drooped a bit, along with my smile, and I felt jealousy running through my veins. Maybe I would just take this bottle of wine and knock him over the head with it… 

He must have seen the look on my face, because he quickly gave a grin. 

" I'm only kidding! Geez, have a sense of humor!" I relaxed a little at that, but still not completely believing it.

" I do have a sense of humor, Draco." I sniffed. " It's just you who is not funny." 

" Uh-huh…" He was trying hard not to burst out laughing. " So? Aren't you hungry? Eat already!" I stared down at the heaps of delicious food before me, and was reminded of how hungry I really was by a timely growl from my stomach. 

" Mmm." I moaned, taking the first bite of food I could get my hands on. I was half tempted to forget silverware all together and just dive my head in the food, forgetting all etiquette. I was never one for manners, anyway. " Dis good." I mumbled through a full mouth. Draco, on the other hand, was taking small, portioned bites like I expected a rich little boy like him to do. He looked at me with half amusement, half disgust at my fervor to shove as much food as possible down my throat. And as if to spite him, I grinned at him and continued to do so, chewing loudly and relentlessly.

" Well, Weasley—quite the pig, you are, aren't you?" He said after a moment's silence with nothing but my loud gnawing. He uncorked the bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. 

" Yes, I am." I glared at him threateningly. " You have something to say about it?" 

" No, no. Continue to inhale your food, and don't blame me when you barf later. I suppose it isn't like you Weasleys would know any better, food being such a rarity what with your lack of money." If we had been on less-friendlier terms, I might have been very offended by this. But he was still smiling, though trying to hide it by taking a sip of his wine. 

" Yo absowooty wite, Draco." I nodded, spitting out crumbs of food as I said this. Chewing quickly, I swallowed. " Very generous of you to give me such extravagant food. But really, you must be hungry too, aren't you?" I raised an eyebrow as calmly as I could. 

" Yes. That's why I'm eating." He addressed me like I was a halfwit. But I smirked. 

" Then stop with the bloody prim-and-proper shit. It's just you and me—you've got no one to impress. And quite frankly, it _annoys_ me." He stared at me glumly, before waving his hands around sarcastically.

" Oh, no—please don't tell me you're annoyed!" He said in a mock high-pitched voice. 

" Shut up." He merely snickered, but I noticed he ate more rapidly afterwards, not caring so much whether or not his mouth was full when he ate. Halfway through stuffing myself and watering it down with (very good) wine, I let out a little burp and sighed, staring at him. My face felt very flushed. 

" You know—I reckon that all this wine isn't really good for me, Draco." I gave a small hiccup. He grinned somewhat maliciously. 

" You're drunk." He stated. 

" Drunk? Pssh. I'm not drunk, stupid!" I squinted my eyes and pushed my chair away from the table. " I'm full. That's what I am. But not drunk, oh no…" 

" Whatever you say, Weasley. You always were a horrible liar." 

" You're evil." I whined. " You're planning to get me drunk on this beeeuooooooo-tiful Christmas night, so you can have your wicked way with me!" He seemed to be highly amused by this, because I could see his eyes glittering in the dim candlelight. 

" Aw, you've figured out my exact intentions, Weasley." He said. " 10 points to Gryffindor." I nodded in satisfaction.

" And mind you—if I were in a lesser mood, I wouldn't 'ave let you gotten me drunk, even it is just a teensy weensy bit." 

" Thank you, then." 

" You're very welcome." I sighed, and let out another sigh/hiccup. Draco got up, smiling more to himself to me, and looking very tall, he walked over to me and scooted my chair completely out, holding out his hand.

" Am I going home now?" I frowned. " I don't really feel like going home." He pulled me up, and I put my hand to his cheek, which was still cold, unlike my cheeks. 

" Going home? You're not going anywhere, Weasley." He said, looking at me with dark eyes. " There's more of that—" He gestured at the empty wine bottle. "—where it came from, and it's still rather early. Do you really think I'd let you go?" I breathed out (I hadn't noticed that I had been holding my breath), and felt wonderful tingles because he was so close to me.

" I hope you don't let me go." 

He just chuckled, and then he let me go while he got another bottle of wine from underneath the table. 

" You're a bad boy, Draco." I commented flimsily, trying hard to stand on my own two legs. " Drinking too much…" 

" I am very bad." He agreed. And I remember I was very happy, because it was so rare that he was so agreeable toward everything I said.

" So, what are we doing? Just drinking more? But what if I have to go take a piss?" 

" Don't be stupid." 

" Okay." I said seriously. " I'll try not to be." He was right. I was being an idiot. 

He turned around once more and produced a small basket.

" Wow, you're really prepared." 

" I do try." 

I spread my arms flamboyantly and struck a pose, trying to smile seductively at him.

" So, tell me, Mr. Malfoy! What is it that you have planned for me this evening?" He, on the other hand, looked a little nervous. He licked his lips and approached me slowly, hand rummaging around in the basket.

" Don't think I'm some kind of romantic, like you mentioned earlier, because I'm NOT. But…this—this is something…I guess I learned from father…and well, I heard this kind of thing worked when wooing women." He seemed almost shy. Even in my slightly tipsy state, I stayed silent, and watched in anticipation.

" What, Draco?" But without answering, he took out a light blanket and walked over to an empty part of the roof, spreading the blanket out on the cold ground. I stared at him, puzzled. 

He patted the ground, and I went over and sat down. He sat down beside me.

" I was just thinking, we could lay down here and just talk—talk about anything you like, really…and if you want, we can just stare at the stars or anything like that…and we can just share Christmas together." He seemed very anxious for my approval. But I—I was currently staring at him with half awe. Maybe such a thing wasn't much, but I—I, the dateless girl whose first real kiss had been Malfoy—this kind of thing sounded like an absolute fairy tale.

" I think I'm in love." I said truthfully, being more blunt and honest than I have ever been before. His slack face widened into a grin.

" Yes, well I do get that kind of reaction from women…" I laughed and slapped him playfully on the shoulder, before lying down beside him. He uncorked the bottle of wine and began to sit up to get the glasses, but I stopped him.

" No need, silly." I snatched the bottle from him and took a large swig. He sighed and lay back down, resting his head on his arms. 

" You know, it isn't so cold anymore." I said thoughtfully. 

" Hmm…might be because of all that wine you drank…" I giggled loudly and rolled over towards him, finding myself resting my head on his chest. He didn't seem to mind. Then we lapsed into a brief silence—but it was not uncomfortable. I sat there, gnawing at my cheek as I thought about everything and nothing. It was, to tell you the truth, very peaceful.

" Stars are very pretty things." I said suddenly. Looking at the sky, I felt a wave of unusual melancholy sweep over my body. I felt very lonely all of a sudden, even though I was next to Draco Malfoy, who I suspected I had a gigantic crush on. It was one of those instances when you longed for someone to tell all your secrets to…

Maybe this was what happened when you were drunk. Your determination to keep walls around yourself simply started to disappear. Maybe you just felt like you needed to tell someone everything, and you weren't so worried what they would think. Maybe…

" I guess so." He replied, shrugging. 

" They all have a place of their own up there, you know." I was starting to ramble now, but the bigger part of me refused to care. Moreover, Draco was listening to me so intently that I didn't want to stop. I took in a huge gulp of air, grasping the blanket beneath me. 

" People…people aren't really like that." My face folded into a small frown. " People aren't as pretty as stars, and people don't have a place of their own in this world. A lot of time people are lost." I knew I was spitting nonsense. And then another small voice asked if I really was. Maybe I wasn't. Because I felt my eyes suddenly blur, the vision in front of me growing unclear, and there was a thick knot in my throat. 

Draco's cool fingers touched the top of my head, and he sat up to look at me. I wished he wouldn't. He was silent for a moment, as if not knowing what to say. I wondered when this evening had turned so serious.

" Are _you_ lost?" He looked concerned. And that was so unlike himself, I didn't know what to do. I nodded, rubbing the bridge of my nose and trying to keep all these strange feelings at bay. 

" I'm somewhat of a failure, you know. I live my life knowing nothing but simple contempt for every aspect of it. I've never known myself to do something right—maybe I have—but I've never felt any satisfaction towards myself. I…I feel like I don't really know my own place in this world…" I trailed off, feeling the tears burst through the barricades and rush down my cheeks.

My head was bent low now, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears. But he had. And he probably thought I was crazy, bursting into tears like this. Psycho girl, with crazy mood swings. He would probably hate me. 

But his cold hands were lifting my chin up, and I was forced to look at him.

" _Ugh_." I tried to laugh, shaking my head. " I probably look like a mess now. Drunk and crying!" He did not laugh. 

" I think you're beautiful." And because I didn't know what to say, I laughed again, though half-heartedly. I stopped, letting my voice fade off.

" Do you mean that?" He paused, looking at me strangely. 

" Yes." And something about the way he said that yes, the way he said it with such simple conviction, brought a smile to my face and—

That was when he leaned in and kissed me. 

It was so gentle and soft, like the wind flitting over your skin…

And I believed, at that moment, that I was in love.

-+-

A/N: Fluff!! Drunk!Ginny is fun. Hem hem. Review. 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Firstly, I hope EVERYONE had a wonderful holiday, whatever holiday it was that you celebrated! *showers you with gifts * 

Secondly, thank you for all the reviews! 100 reviews! What I did to deserve this, I don't know, I just know I'm extremely happy about it. 

Thirdly—on with the fic. 

The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley 

-+-

December 26 

I've just realized something very important.

Now, don't get me wrong—last night was _probably_ the best night of my life. Last night felt so authentic, if you know what I mean. I cringe at how drunk I was, and the kinds of things I foolishly told Draco. It's likely he's sitting in his dormitory snickering about me, right now.

It was…everything I could ever dream of! 

Except one thing.

_I _remember vaguely telling him that I was in love with him. I half wish I could take it back with a laugh and tell him it was a joke, but it's the utter truth. It's a kind of truth that I also didn't know hurt this much.

But he did not say those words back to me, like he meant it. I. Love. You. Right now, there's only one person I want to hear those words from: The Ferret himself. 

And even after everything he's said and done to me, even when I'm pretty sure he doesn't absolutely hate me, I can't get rid of this _evil_, sneaky doubt altogether and tell it to be gone.

It's just that I feel scared to the very tips of my ugly toes that I don't really know who this Draco Malfoy is yet—that maybe the real Draco Malfoy goes around telling every girl she's beautiful if he'll get a good snog out of it. From the stories I've heard, and I've heard a lot, he's supposed to be a woman eater. Not kidding. He tears your heart apart and then leaves it there, right on the cold linoleum floor.

Does this guy even know what love is? If he were in love, would he feel it and know what it was, or just classify it as simple lust? Well, you know, despite my NC-17 fantasies, I've decided I don't want simple lust with him. What kind of girl do you think I am? And if he thinks he's going to get any more empty snogs out of me, what kind of girl does _he_ think I am?

Too many questions. I suppose this isn't a good time to go force my brain into shock. 

Afternoon 

A note to life: 

You win, alright? I'll do your bidding. I'll let you bring immense loads of irony upon me, and I'll let you confuse me. The only thing I won't let you do is take away this one itty-bitty chance I may have with Malfoy, okay? Does that sound enough of a bargain for you, you greedy ponce? 

The point. Just when I think I have everything figured out, people, of all things, go and surprise me. 

Take Hermione for instance. People say she is brilliant. Maybe she is, when it comes to memorizing numbers and using logic to figure puzzles and preparing for tests. But especially after her little therapy session, I doubted she was very adept at dealing with emotional problems. I admit, it's not a skill many people can be sage about, and I'm certainly not one to go criticizing for someone's lack of people skills, ha-ha. 

But today, she came in Gryffindor common room, alone. No Ron or Harry tagging along. 

She looked genuinely concerned—not that she hadn't been before, but a kind of genuine concern that also wanted to genuinely understand me. Her brown eyes went kind of soft, and her voice even softer, and she sat down beside me, giving me a somewhat reassuring smile. 

" Going through something tough?" she said, biting her lip. Well, she certainly seemed perceptive right then. No one else seemed to have noticed my inner turmoil, and then, right then and there, said turmoil betrayed me and spilled out right in front of us.

" Yes." I sighed. The word sounded like _relief_, I tell you. I looked towards the warm fire, then to Hermione, then down to my hands. 

" Care to tell me about it?" She asked. When she saw the skeptical look on my face, she laughed. " I promise, no more note pads, or analyzing, or any of that. I'll listen." Hmm. Listen. I smoothed my skirt out on my chair and nodded. 

" I'm in love." There. I had said it. Said to Hermione Granger what I had not confided in anyone yet. But I thought this would be the end to my impulsive Gryffindor bravery. I waited for Hermione to contemplate all I had just said. But she was waiting for me to go on. Her eyes goaded me to continue, so I sighed again, like this was a burden, and did. 

" With this person." Hermione suddenly snickered. I raised an eyebrow at her. 

" Well, I'm glad it's a person, and not some toad you were hoping to turn into a handsome prince. You had me worried there." I giggled. She was trying to make me feel better about this, wasn't she? It was funny how she was trying to make cracks at me now. Almost like we were familiar with each other. Almost like we were good friends. So really, I giggled. Let the world end and fall to pieces—but not just yet. Wait until I'm done with my story.

" I'm in love with Draco Malfoy." I blurted helplessly, my tone turning into a hopeless moan. That's what happened when innocent mouths like mine had to utter foul words like Draco and Malfoy. Even though I loved him, there was still no denying that he was a nasty little bugger. 

I looked at Hermione for any kind of reaction, then quickly looked away. On second thought, I didn't care to see the look of horror on her face. She would probably take back everything she had said about listening and go storming out to tell Ron. 

" See? That's why I can't tell anyone. I can't even tell myself that I love this guy, because…because…well, I'm not supposed to!" It sounded kind of stupid when I said it like that, but it was true, wasn't it? I knew loads of people who would have my head if I told this same story to them.

" Oh." That was all she said. Oh. Like there was nothing else to be said about the matter. Maybe it was so, but 'Oh' was almost like being completely silent about it, and silence was worse than yelling. I threw my head up to meet her eyes. 

" Don't you understand? Ron will lock me up in a tower far, far away, he'll kill Draco, and I'll never be happy again in my entire life." I muttered. " I will probably end up jumping off said tower." 

This was the part when Hermione wrapped her arms around me, just like a good—no, no, best—friend would. It was consoling. It was comforting. It was understanding. And then I started crying. 

I guess I could hold some record for most tears spilled at odd moments, because I cried yesterday with Draco when I was supposed to be _happy_ with him, and I was crying today when Hermione was being a perfectly understanding friend. I was temperamental and very, very testy, that was what I was. 

But because she was so wonderful, she didn't tell me to stop being a ninny and to dry my tears. No—instead, she let me cry. She let me cry on about how beautiful and unattainable he was, even though he used the most horrid kind of cologne on this Earth. She let me cry on about how I'd love to just hug him and hold him forever but he'd probably push me away and call me Weasley filth again like he used to and it'd be just like before when I thought I hated him. 

She let me cry on her shoulder—moreover, she let me cry on her brand new sweater. If that's not a sign of true friendship, I don't know what is. 

When it seemed like I had managed to turn off the waterworks, Hermione turned to me and said in the very stubborn, no-nonsense way, 

" Well, have you told him yet?" Honestly, I thought I'd go bonkers. But at the moment, still dabbing tissues at my swollen eyes, all I could manage was, " W-What?" 

" If you love him, you've got to tell him!" She said. Remember how eloquent I am? Yea, this is when my so-called eloquence kicked in. 

" W-What?" 

" March straight up to him, give him a kiss, and tell him you love him." 

" W-What?" Hermione shook her head and pulled me into a hug. She whispered in my ear, almost conspiratorially. 

" There's no use sitting here and aching over something you can't control. Fortunately, it turns out you _can_ do something about this. You can tell him what you feel and hope to God you were right when you thought you felt those love sparks between your kisses. You can tell him what you feel and not care about what's wrong or right. We need more people in this world who aren't scared of what is deemed to be 'correct'." I pulled away from her. 

" You mean you're not going to tell Ron? You're not going to tell me I'm an idiot for falling in love with him?" 

" Nah, I guess not." Hermione smiled. " I know what it's like to be in love." Now, normally, I would have retched at that implied Ron-Hermione lovey-doveyness, but under these circumstances, I did not. 

So for once in my lifetime, Hermione listened to me—and I listened to her. I've sent him an owl, and he's going to meet me outside tonight by the lake. 

I hope.

Late at night 

Right. So I always manage to screw things up pretty well, don't I? 

I went down to the lake fairly early, although it was already dark. I had finally remembered that I needed to give him my gift still. Especially if I was going to start loving him, I couldn't have him smelling like _that_, as I had reiterated before. Hopefully this would be the end to the Draco's Awful Stench saga. 

He was not there. Part of me wondered if he would show up at all, and the more sensible part of me told me that I was just too early, and he probably considered it polite to arrive fashionably late. Typical Malfoy-ness was to be expected.

I desperately wished that part of me to be right, and hopelessly argued with myself for no less than a quarter of an hour in the pitch-black cold by the tree by the lake. Ridiculous, what love does to a person. More so, it was unfair that this realization had to be…well—so sudden. WHAM! And I was officially in love with the one person I shouldn't be. No warnings whatsoever, and no particularly good reasons, either. 

When I saw the tops of his neatly kept hair arriving towards me, I thought about bolting. Yes. Just run, Ginny, and pretend you never saw him. Fear, that was what wanted to make me run! Fear of utter rejection! Maybe you, diary, being such an inanimate thing with no emotion, maybe you would not think of the horrors of such a rejection—but I couldn't handle it. Not from him, anyway. His rejection would have been merciless. Cold and laughing. Jeering, sneering, leering. Oh, great. Now I'm rhyming. 

Then, he spoke and I stopped thinking.

" Fancy meeting you here." My first mistake was to look at him. He was breathtaking, all right? Especially in the night, when some kind of ethereal glow seemed to illuminate his skin. And he talked so casually, but then again, he did not know the importance of my conversation. 

I jumped in with only a moment's hesitation. No greetings, no nothing. The knot in my throat was too big for that.

" Here." I thrust my package into his chest. He raised an eyebrow. 

" What's this?" He asked, turning it over slowly in his hands. At this point, I seemed to be on the edge of every emotion possible and rolled my eyes impatiently. 

" It's a Christmas present, dolt." I snapped. His eyebrows returned to their normal positions as he stared at me blankly. 

" A present." He repeated. I stamped my foot, wishing he'd just get on with it. 

" Yes, a present for you, as hard as it might be to believe." He lingered on the matter a bit longer. " Open it!" I nearly shrieked. He ripped it open, then gingerly opened the box, as if he were scared of what it could contain. And then his eyebrows did a whole new jumping routine as he saw what was inside. Did he like it? I couldn't tell, but my heart was jumping, hoping like I never had before that he did. 

" Well." That was not good. Well. Well. What the hell was 'well' supposed to mean? I already felt the tears welling up in my eyes, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. It was just a silly present. No big deal. No big deal—oh, lord, it suddenly meant everything to me! When had his approval started meaning so much—I didn't remember signing any contracts agreeing to this new sensation.

" I'm sorry—you hate it." I said, my hands trembling as I reached to take it back. His hands stopped me. My lips quivered a bit more, and then his long fingers were lifting my chin upwards to face him. 

" Don't be stupid." His voice was soft. That's what he always said. But his voice was sincere. Like music to my ears, really. " It's lovely." I hiccupped. He told me to stop crying because I was being an idiot. I told him I _was_ an idiot and he told me to shut up. 

" I needed it, anyway." He murmured, pointing at the bottle of cologne. He was lying. He was so good, and I so pitiful, he felt the need to lie to me. Boy, did I feel really, really stupid. I was like an annoying bug who wouldn't get the point. He absolutely hated me. 

But then he laughed. First, it was a snicker. Then it grew louder and louder until his shoulders were shaking from laughter, and it felt wonderful to hear him laugh like that. It was warm laughter.

" Do I really smell that putrid, then?" He asked, when his laughter had somewhat subsided. My face was dry, and I was all When Have I Ever Cried? I was happy and gleeful. He made me the moody psycho girl I was, I swear. 

" You've no idea." I commented as dryly as I could without laughing myself. We were sitting on the wet snow now. In this moment in our meeting, I felt like I could laugh forever. My feelings were mismatched and constantly switching me, deceiving me, betraying me.

" Funny thing is, you know, I used that cologne to impress you." I blinked. Had I heard right? Or too much earwax. Damn it, I always forgot to Q-tip. He continued on, though. " I found it in my father's cabinet. The label promised to make the ladies love me. So much for that." He looked at me oddly for a moment, as if he'd only just noticed me. 

" Why am I telling you this, again?" He asked incredulously. I shrugged slowly.

" Maybe you're drunk." Did I mention that all throughout our conversation, all I could think about was 'how could I ever have hated him when he's so wonderful like this?' 

" Maybe." The way he said that word sent shivers down my spine. I suddenly noticed how close he was to me. What I really wanted to know was whether or not that meant he…you know…had affections for me. 

Okay, I'll say it. Whether or not he was head over heels in love with me. After all, had it not been he who had told me he did candlelit dinners for all the girls he's snogged? Was I just a good shag? (if we ever got that far, which I doubted, at this rate.)

Did he really want to impress me? It seemed that no amount of words could reassure me. 

" Do you love me?" I blurted. Which I immediately regretted. Because as soon as I had let those words slip, the air seemed to still so it could eavesdrop for his answer, and he seemed to tense next to me. I thought about turning back to the earlier plan I had—to run. But something, maybe my insatiable, damned curiosity, made me stay. 

He hesitated. That wasn't a good sign. If he was really in love me, and fully secure about it too, he would have gladly expressed his love. Not so. 

" What you have to understand about this is…" I didn't want to hear any more of it. It was like he had reached over and turned off the 'happy' switch in me. Only he had access to that switch. And I…I was about to bawl my eyes out, but not quite as gracefully as the word _bawl_ indicated. No. If I did not do something—like leave—I was going to _die_. I understood perfectly well, in fact. He didn't have to explain anything to console my broken heart. 

" Okay. I do understand." I sniffled. I tried to stand up on my legs, but my knees wobbled and I crashed back down to the ground. Draco seemed aggrieved at this and tried to stop me.

" No! Sit back down, you great fool! You don't understand half of it! The diary that I sent you—all of it—you don't know any of it—you need to know why—" 

Had I been a little more sane and open to hear what he was really saying, I might have lingered a bit longer. But my stubbornness had already blinded me from seeing what was sensible. He detested every fiber of my filthy Weasley being and that was that. 

He was stuttering something awful, like a proper Malfoy never would, and I was crying and shivering. I should have realized something then. I was too dense.

In the end, it was Ron who sort of saved me. Him and his nose for trouble. As soon as he saw us there, my face red and dripping with tears (lucky for me it was quite dark), and Draco babbling on about nothing in particular, he blew another gasket. I said nothing but followed him home. 

" You stay away from her, Malfoy!" He shouted angrily, fist barely kept at bay by my compliance to leave. " I don't know what you've done to make her cry—but. You. Best. Stay. Away!" He grunted. 

So, make that the two of us, who were dreadfully silent. Draco was looking helplessly at me, flecks of anger in his eyes. Harry looked confused. Hermione looked painfully sympathetic, biting her lip but doing nothing. 

Feeling numb to everything, even Ron's shouting, I trudged back to the castle in gloom. 

Now that I am away from him—away from His (Draco's) influence, I realize I may have been a little rash. I realize maybe I should have let him finish his words. 

I should have let him finish what he had to say, damn it all! Diary? What had he said about diaries? This diary? Not this one, surely not this one…why would he? Why?? A cruel joke?…

The point is, 

I may have very well lost my only chance at being with my true love. 

Things To Do:

1) Stop being so STUPID. STUPID, STUPID, STUPID. 

2) Find out about the mystery of Draco/Diary.

3) Stop doubting his love so much. There may still be hope.

4) But then again, don't get your hopes up too high. A broken heart is impossible to mend. 

5) If all fails, find a nice, high cliff of jump off of. 

A/N: I have the rest of the story written up, and sitting complacently in my computer. It still needs a bit of editing, I suppose, but review and I'll to post as soon as possible. 


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I am really, terribly sorry for the delay. But here's what happened--midterms, loads of new school projects that demanded my attention. 

AND THEN.

Today, my crap of an imac lost all of my word files. Yea. So all that I've written isÉ.gone. I must remember back-up, but honestly--can't one trust one's computer to actually save and keep files?? Geez.

On with the story. So don't hate me if this chapter doesn't seem so enthusiastic. It's not the same writing it for the second time.

The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley

Chapter 9 

I cannot believe this. I really can't. People just don't appreciate me anymore.

Hermione came in to have another one of her inspiring talks with me.

HERMIONE: Ginny, you're being very insensitive. 

ME: [Sputtering.] 

HERMIONE: Yes. You're basking in self-pity. It's sickening to see.

ME: I don't know what you're talking about, Hermione! All people do, though, is hate me! Everything in my life--it goes wrong! Is it some cardinal sin for something in my life to go right, for once? So, at least, I know what it feels like, to be happy??

HERMIONE: [Wearing a ridiculous hat along with a ridiculous expression on her face.] Don't be silly. Happiness is a state of mind, you fool. You are happy if and when you choose to be.

ME: Please, Hermione. I don't need one of your philosophical tirades right now.

HERMIONE: [Indignant.] It's not a philosophical tirade! It's called the truth!

ME: Well, then. I _choose_ to be happy when I have a reason to be. Being happy under these circumstances would label me as an idiot.

HERMIONE: [Sniffs.]And you don't have enough reasons right now? Tell me, then, what's so horrible about your life.

ME: People don't care about me. Just because I don't say anything, doesn't mean I want everyone to look at me as if I were an insignificant worm, squirming uneasily on the ground. AND, the love of my life basically resents every inch of my wormy self.

HERMIONE: You're such a drama queen sometimes, Ginny. Wait, scratch that. You're a drama queen all the time.

ME: [Glaring.] And when did you become so rude?

HERMIONE: It's actually blunt truth.

ME: Whatever you choose to call it, Hermione. I'm NOT a drama queen. I just want to be treated like I deserve, for once.

HERMIONE: [ Looking ponderous.] Maybe you are being treated like you deserve, Gin.

ME: [Gaping. Honestly, how could the brat SAY such a thing?] EXCUSE ME? What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?

HERMIONE: Treat others the way you--

ME: I DO! 

HERMIONE: Sure. Then when's the last time _you've_ stopped someone in the halls to ask how she or he was doing? When's the last time you've shown that you've cared, Ginny? 

ME: Oh, and because you're doing so much better than me at that, you have a right to lecture me about how many times a day I say, " How do you do?" 

HERMIONE: No! You're completely and irritably missing the point! At least I sought you out and tried to help you in your time of need! 

ME: And your help is certainly helping a lot! 

HERMIONE: [Shaking with anger.] Just who do you think you are, then, to think you deserve people waiting by your side so they can pretend to care for you? Because while we're at it, let's be blunt: People care for those who have earned it. Maybe it means you haven't earned anyone's care.

And then, she left before I could spit out another word. Which was just as well, because I was so furious by then, I could have picked up that expensive vase on the bed table and chucked it at her abnormally large head.

Except. 

Now that I read over what I said, and what she said--

Shreds of doubt enter my mind. Maybe she's right.

Later 

I apologized to Herm. She accepted it, and I half wish she didn't just so I could tell myself how horrible she is and that whatever she told me was wrong. But no. Hermione Granger always has to be flawlessly kind and good.

But you know what? I've been sitting here, thinking for the past few hours. Not good when I start to think too much.

The thing of it is, I can't think of all the reasons I've made up as to why my life is terrible. Maybe this is what self-discovery is. Finding out the true flaws within yourself and striving to make them better. 

Well --except for Draco but--who ever said he hated me? That was just my imagination, wasn't it? " You'll never know unless you do something about it." Or so says Hermione. But you know what?

I reckon she's right. So what else is new?

I think it's about time that I sat down to have a nice, long talk with that boy. 

Even Later 

Recap:

I eventually caught him loitering about in the corridors. Except I knew his loitering was anything but casual, because he was standing there, pretending to be fascinated with a particularly dull painting. He's not the type to do that kind of thing, especially not in public where people can accuse him of being sensitive.

" Draco." I said firmly. He tensed, and then turned around. 

" We need to talk." I said. He gulped, and nodded. Before he could say anything, I grabbed his hands and whipped out my secret weapon:

" What's that?" He asked curiously. I didn't answer him. I put the cuff around him and the other around mine. Good. We were officially inseparable. At least, until another three hours or so.

" Handcuffs." I finally explained. " Muggle things, actually. It's a precaution, so neither of us decide to take off somewhere during this much needed conversation." He looked outraged, then baffled, then reluctant. But what could he do about it, anyway? 

" I'm sorry." I started. He shrugged, and looked at me quizzically.

" For what?" 

" For running away yesterday, and not letting you finish what you were saying." He nodded.

" Yes. Mother always did say that it wasn't proper to interrupt someone. Especially if he's a Malfoy." I couldn't tell if he was kidding or being entirely serious, so I didn't laugh.

" I was scared." 

" Do I really scare you that much, then?" He nearly looked pleased with himself.

" No. I'm not scared of you, stupid." 

" Then what?"

" Explain to me first about the diary." I prompted, steering conversation away from me. He suddenly looked uneasy, as if he would have liked to bolt. I grinned and pointed at the handcuffs. He cursed quietly, before running a free hand through his hair. 

" I sent you the damned diary." 

" It's a damned diary?" He glared at me.

" You know what I mean!" He licked his lips and stared at me tentatively. " You aren't surprised?" 

I shrugged. Yes, I was a bit surprised. But after all those hints he had dropped, it had been a little obvious who it was.

" I guess I am surprised." I said. " But more to the point, I think I should be cross with you, Mr. Malfoy." I turned icy eyes on him. Now he looked really uncomfortable, tugging at his tie. 

" It was a sleazy thing to do, alright." He seemed to be muttering more to himself than to me. " It's an enchanted diary, of course." I froze at those words. 

" Bastard." He winced. " I'd rather have a damned diary than an enchanted one, after all. Thought it was funny, then, did you? To torment a girl like that?"

" Well, at firstÉ"

" Wrong answer, Malfoy!" I said, before stepping on his toe. He yelped and made to grab his shoe, but the handcuffs restricted body movement. 

" You are right about one thing, though. It WAS a sleazy thing to do--although, from a Malfoy, you can't really expect much better--how--why?" I stumbled for words. 

" I bought it at Knockturn Alley?" He offered. I slapped a hand to my face and groaned. Dark Arts. Always dark arts. The thought, ' Why me?' flitted through my mind, suddenly.

" Look, I'm sorry. But I'm a boy--I'm Draco Malfoy at that, and the idea of being able to read what you wrote in your diary was too tempting to pass up." I suppose it was amazing enough that he actually sounded apologetic. I peeked through my hands to shoot daggers at him. 

Wait--wait--read what I wrote in my diary??

" WHAT?" He jumped. " What do you mean, Draco Malfoy, that you could read what I wrote?" 

" I'm sorry--really!!" It was around this point in time that I lost it and smacked him none-too-gently across the face. 

His pale cheeks grew red quickly, as his jaws clenched. 

" Alright, so I deserved that." 

And then I regretted slapping him. 

" Oh, Gods, I'm sorry, DracoÉ" 

" No, don't be. I learn well from physical abuse--that should teach me never to do such a thing again."

" It's just--it's so embarrassing! To know that you know all my secretsÉ" I trailed off, my eyes bugging at this prospect. He knew everything. Every itty bitty detail I wrote in here. It was like a slap to my own face, really. I'd been fooled twice. Shame on me. Right then, more than anything I wanted to gnaw off the chains and go find that paper bag to put over my head.

" You knowÉeverythingÉ?" I asked tentatively.

" Basically, yea." I closed my eyes. Well, at least he answered simply enough. My eyes opened again, in sudden revelation.

" But you didn't know about me in my Zorro get-up or how I spiked the punch--" Draco frowned.

" Don't flatter yourself, Gin. S'not like I bother to read every single thing you write. I don't stalk your thoughts like that." I blushed and didn't know whether or not to be happy or offended.

" Well, then. Now that that's cleared up--think you can get these things off me? My skin's rather sensitive to metal. I have homework to get to, anyhow." Draco motioned towards the handcuffs. Indeed, his wrist was starting to turn red. I started to nod nonchalantly. So this was it. All the confusion cleared. No need to talk to him anymore, right?

" Wait. No." He looked at me wonderingly, raising a dark blonde eyebrow.

" There's something else we still need to talk about." 

" You're going to tell me you hate me forever for the cheap diary scam, aren't you?" Draco said dryly. I didn't answer. 

All I could think about was losing this one chance to find him and hold him and talk to him before he would go back to being arse-y Malfoy again without even Self-Discovery classes to sustain me any longer, and me, slowly pining away for him--surviving only with chance glances in the hallways? Was this truly it? Surely notÉsurely there had to be more, especially when some deep part of me felt so strongly about it, as if I would shrivel up and scatter into a tiny million pieces if I could not grasp him completelyÉ

" I love you!" And it's ironic, really, when you say something that you'd really only like to whisper, how it echoes off the walls like a thousand strong voices. The whole world must have heard my rather brave exclamation. 

He lookedÉdumbstruck. Almost resembling a statue, frozen in time, because I don't think either of us could have batted an eyelash in that moment. Until, that is, time unfroze itself and called us to do something. 

" Oh." He sounded almost monotonous. It wasn't a delighted "Oh!" or a disgusted, " _Oh_É" Somehow, that made me angry.

" That's it? 'Oh?'" I asked. He didn't move a muscle. Then, he blinked slowly, as if his brain had suddenly slowed down and had trouble processing a single word. 

" I don't know what else to say." He said, almost regretfully.

" How about telling me what you really feel, Draco?" My hands mistakenly touched my face and felt those damned wet things again, that were so frequently visiting me these days. " Enough riddles, enough guessing. Tell me if you feel something remotely special for me or not." I pleaded. 

And then, a redhead figure rounded the corner. My heart sank, and my feet grew cold, angry all over again at the world's mockery at me. 

But Draco didn't seem to notice Ron, opening his mouth to complain. His gaze was fixed on me, as if I was all that he could see.

" Yes." At first, it was a whisper. " I think I do feel something special for you." A little louder now, that it was audible to me. 

" What's going on here?" Ron protested, trying to interject. Draco merely stepped closer to me, looking taller and handsomer than he had ever before. 

" I think I might just love you, Ginny." He smiled, as if those words were releasing a year's trapped words inside him. I smiled back, relieved and--well, how do you describe a moment like this? Happy. Simply happy. 

" Now, see here--I don't like this one bit, Gin--get away from him now, there's a good girl." 

Draco whipped his head around, finally taking note of Ron.

" Weasley, you idiot." He bit out icily. " For once in your life: Shut up." 

And then he leaned in and kissed me, one handcuffed hand reaching out to cup my chin.

A/N: AGH. Sorry that was so craptastic, but I felt I had to write something and post it TONIGHT. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed--I think that there will be one more chapter to this, as an epilogue. Expect some hefty thank you's next chapter then, and a rather tearful good-bye. 

NOTE: All of you, come and visit me at my livejournal, _now_, before I am forced twiddle my thumbs in boredom. (lj name: seven_years) Yes, it's really a desperate cry for a cure of loneliness. None of my friends are cool enough to get one. ::sticks tongue out at them and deprives them of Draco plushies:: Okay, enough. I'm going now. ::is a loser::__


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: This is the last chapter, more commonly known as the _epilogue_ of this story. Why? Draco and Ginny are together now. I've dragged this on for faaar too long. I guess I'm only even writing this because I seemed to have promised one last chapter. Nothing much left to say. But I will miss you reviewers terribly, because you've all been too good to me. : - (

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_Epilogue_   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**   
  
  
Three months after what became known to Ginny as the Second Diary Incident, people were _still_ giving them awkward stares. 

It was simply outrageous. Everything from half-baked attempts to break them apart (courtesy of Jealous Slytherin Females) to vicious hate letters that (literally) bit them. Was it really a big deal? Once upon a time, Ginny would have loved all this attention—not now, however.

It didn't help matters that her so-called boyfriend was being none too sympathetic about it.

" You'd think that three months is enough time for the information to sink into their thick skulls, wouldn't you agree?" Ginny snapped irritably, frowning as she stomped down the hallway. 

Draco shrugged from beside her. She turned to look at him and saw that he clearly was not listening—his eyes had that glazed, go-on-I'll-pretend-I-care look to about them.

" Great." Ginny ground her teeth. This really was not her day. " Just great. Are you even listening to me, Malfoy?" She whirled on her feet to stand in front of the blonde. After a moment, he seemed to realize that silence had replaced Ginny's loud rants, and he blinked rapidly. 

" Er—you were saying?" He offered hesitantly. At least he was sensitive enough to notice the withering glare coming from Ginny.

" No, never mind." Ginny said, pretending to be nonchalant, even as anger coursed through her. " If you haven't the time to listen to what I have to say, just forget it—"

" Gin—" He began.

" No, really." Ginny faked a smile. " I must be going to Potions class, dear." Hugging her books tightly to her chest, a suddenly sullen look replaced the look of feigned happiness on her face. " I just can't get away from those damned Slytherins, can I?" 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
By dinnertime, however, Ginny was back to talking Draco's ear off. Who else did she have to go to, anyway? Ron went into a frenzy whenever he heard the word Malfoy uttered. Harry wasn't too far from there, and although Hermione was at times sympathetic, she wouldn't understand. 

" Draco, what _is_ wrong with you?" She asked concernedly when she noticed Draco dazing off for the 5th time that day. 

" I heard you." He sighed tiredly from beside her. He looked unusually pale, and not that she thought of it—she hadn't seem him smile for quite a while now. " But what can you do, Gin? The idea of us being together takes a long time to get used to. _I'm_ still having trouble getting used to it."

If these words were supposed to be comforting—they had the exact opposite effect. What she would have liked to hear was something along the lines of, ' Gin, it doesn't matter what they say as long as we're together and happy. I love you, and that's all that matters. Screw those nimwits who say otherwise.' 

Ginny's eyes flashed with hurt and slight understanding. In her mind, there was simply no longer any doubt—after all, the signs pointed to it. 

" I see." Was all she could say to him. And for the second time that day, she walked away from him briskly.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
** 

It was around noon on Saturday that Hermione heard an enormous sob coming from behind a tall bookcase. 

" Ginny?" Hermione called, hurrying to see what was the matter. The redhead seemed to be uncontrollably sobbing, book perched primly in front of her.

" Er—sad book?" Hermione guessed, peering knowingly at the title (_Herbology For The Advanced_). Ginny quickly shook her head before giving her another woeful look of her brown eyes.

" No!" She hiccupped, before a fresh bucket of tears rolled down her cheeks. 

" What, then?" Hermione probed carefully, taking a seat across from her. One word emitted from Ginny's mouth.

" _Draco!" _Hermione cringed. How many times has she prophesized this day would come?

" What about him, dear?" She asked, although in the back of her mind, she knew the answer too well.

" He—He doesn't love me anymore!" Ginny burst out. 

Hermione thought about this. What she really wanted to say was, ' Tough luck. Did you honestly think a relationship with Malfoy would work, Ginny?'—but it wasn't like she would _really_ say that. No, she could not.

" Be sensible, Ginny. How do you know he doesn't love you?" 

" He's never listening." She was quick to point out, drying her tears rapidly. Anger seemed to be the next emotion that filtered in through her mind. " Her-mi-o-ne! I've read Witch Weekly! The 7 Deadly Signs That He's Not Interested--!" Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly. Ginny seemed frantic and on the verge of slitting her throat, as she had threatened to do many times before.

" Calm down, Ginny." Hermione sighed. " You have no proof of anything. " Don't let your imagination carry you, as it has before. Wait and see how things go. More importantly—talk to him." 

Ginny groaned. 

" Talk? Talk?! Well, gee, Herm that seems to be your answer to everything—but what if talking doesn't work? What if it isn't _enough_? FAT LOT TALKING WILL DO, WHEN THE PROBLEM SEEMS TO BE THAT HE SIMPLY WON'T LISTEN!" Ginny bellowed the last part. Hermione was immediately reminded of a certain scar-headed boy.

" Then I suppose you and he are over." Hermione shrugged helplessly. She was getting too old for this job. When had she applied to be an Agony Aunt? 

" Oh, big help you are, Hermione." Ginny huffed, getting up to leave. 

A few tears still clung to her lashes.

**

This continued on for over a week. At sporadic moments throughout the day, Ginny would go to Hermione, not necessarily seeking advice, but to hear what she wanted to hear—that things were not as bad as she made it out to be. The world supply of tissues had decreased significantly due to the woes of this girl.

" This is it." Ginny said breathlessly one night, holding the parchment tightly in her hands. " He's been even more nervous and distant this past week—he's going to break up with me, tonight. That's the reason he wants to see me. I just know it!" Cue fresh peals of tears.

When it finally seemed that Ginny had gotten over her drama queen stage, Hermione was proved wrong.

" I guess I'll have to go." Ginny said mournfully. " But I don't know what I'll do without him. I'll probably go back to being a hermit in my dorm room. Maybe I'll even take up needlepoint." 

She walked off with a sag in her shoulders.

**

The night air was chilly. Ginny wrapped the shawl around her body as tightly as she could. Had she bought a fresh supply of Kleenexes? she wondered. Lord only knew she would need them soon.

" Gin—over here!" Ginny could see the tip of Draco's blonde hair sticking out of the bushes. Taking a deep breath, she strutted over to where he crouched, trying her best to look as dignified as she could.

" Hello, Draco." She said airily, taking a seat on the bench in front of the bushes. 

" Quick—bend down next to me! _Now!_" He shouted frantically, ignoring her cold greeting. 

" What the—"

" Do you _want_ to get caught by Filch, then?"

" Oh!" Quick as lightning, Ginny hid next to Draco behind the bushes—and in the nick of time. Sure enough, she could see (and smell—poor guy never seemed to find enough time for a proper bath) Filch and his darned cat prowling the grounds, not five feet away from them. He seemed to be mumbling to himself.

" Well, see, one of these days…I'll catch you all…don't think I'm in the dark, you troublesome kids! I know you're out here partaking in—certain—scandalous—acts!" He sputtered indignantly. A loud meow interrupted his shouts. 

" Alright, alright, Mrs. Norris, our next stop will be the kitchen…your dinner, as promised." And with that, he gently picked up his beloved cat and hurried on. 

Ginny and Draco both let out bated breaths.

" Well," Draco began, when it seemed that danger was out of sight. Ginny tugged at her collar nervously.

" Yep." She said quietly, trying desperately to fill in the awkward gaps of silence. Draco readjusted himself on the grassy ground, looking at Ginny carefully.

" The reason I wanted to talk to you is because—"

" I know, Draco." Ginny interrupted. " I know." First surprise, then anger flashed through Draco's face.

" How? Who told you? Because I swear, if it was Crabbe who told you I'll beat him into a bloody pulp." He demanded. Ginny shrugged, feeling her throat close up. He was not denying it, then. 

" I guessed." Draco snorted.

" Bloody good guess, then." When Ginny was silent, Draco pressed on.

" Well?" He asked hesitantly.

" Well what?"

" What do you say to that, Gin?" Ginny quickly looked down at her skirt, wringing her hands together nervously. If she looked at him now, she knew she would start crying.

" If that's the way you really feel, I guess I have no choice…" A look of disbelief crossed his face.

" What? What do you mean, if that's the way I really feel?" Ginny blinked, then shrugged again.

" You mean you don't want to…?" Draco asked, horrified. Ginny rolled her eyes. 

" Of course I don't, you dimwit!" She snapped suddenly. Gods, he was so thick. What made him think she would actually want to break up with him? Did he think that she had agreed to be his girlfriend, just for kicks?

" I see." Came Draco's disheartened voice. After a moment of awkward silence in which only the crickets chirped happily, he spoke again. " I'm not going to force you into anything, Ginny. But--" He carefully reached over to take her hand. This was it, Ginny thought.

" I just thought that maybe, since I would be graduating in a few weeks, that we could start talking about the chance of a future together…" He let his words trail off. " But if you're so blatantly against it, then fine. We'll just go our separate ways. I'm okay with that." He pasued. "Well, I'm _not_—but I guess I will be…in a few centuries…or…eons…."

Ginny sat in silence for a good few minutes, letting Draco's words ring in her head. Then she understood—that she _hadn't _understood. Holy cheese crackers.

" Oh my God, I've been so stupid!" She cried out loud, suddenly flinging her arms around the blonde boy. Startled, Draco fell backwards. 

" Bloody hell." Draco cursed, watching wet tears drip down her eyes. " Why are you crying now?" 

" Because I've been so stupid!" She repeated, pounding her fists into his chest. Draco winced, having the wind knocked out of him for a second or two. 

" A-and, why have you been stupid?" 

" I thought…I thought you were going to tell me you didn't love me anymore!" As soon as he heard those words, Draco burst out laughing.

" You're right," He wheezed. " That is stupid, Weasley. Absolutely ridiculous!" Another punch in the stomach silenced him immediately. Ginny carefully climbed off of him.

" You were acting awfully strange, though. I'm not sure you've heard two words I've said for the past few weeks. And you've been awfully pale." Ginny mused to herself, as if trying to puzzle out the mystery. As if on cue, Draco immediately paled at her words.

" Well, um, there's a good reason for that too." He said meekly. Ginny waited expectantly. 

" Oh?" She said. " Care to tell me?" Draco considered this seriously.

" Actually, that's okay, I could just tell you tomorrow…" 

Punch.

" Ow. Okay, okay!" 

Sighing, Draco got off of the floor and sat upright on the ground. He mumbled something under his breath, something that sounded like, " Been nervous about this all month…"

" Ginny Weasley," He began with a slightly trembling voice. Ginny arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. What could possibly be the reason for his acting strange? I mean, Draco Malfoy—nervous? What had the world come to?

The night air seemed to still as his too-gray eyes looked into hers.

" I want to make babies with you." 

Utter silence.

First, she frowned. What kind of reason was that? What did it _mean_, I want to make babies with her…he had been nervous all week because he wanted sex…? 

Gasping in revelation (why was she always so late on the uptake?) Ginny's eyes bugged out as her hand flew to her heart. Biting her lips so she would not sob, she managed to grin shakily at him.

" You mean…" She trailed off, as he shook his head.

" What I really mean, though—" He quickly amended, a smirk of his own gracing his face. " Is that when we are married, we'll have lots of pretty, blonde and red haired babies. We'll have ten of them, if you want. Don't worry though, we'll get a house big enough to fit all of them in. So you must promise me that next year, when I'm gone from this school, you won't go gallivanting off with some fellow—for the sake of our children, please." He was grinning from ear to ear. 

It was at this point that Ginny finally managed to answer him.

" Oh, you arrogant prick." She laughed, wrapping her arms around him. " You could have just asked me to marry you, like most normal people do." 

Draco seemed to ponder this, as if the idea had never flitted through his mind.

" Interesting concept. Alright, I'll give it a try." His lips were centimeters from hers. His eyes were the exact color of silver mercury, melting everything inside of her. In Ginny's mind, this was the epitome of a perfect night. 

" Marry me?" He whispered. 

Only her kisses answered him. 

**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_April 15_

_Well._

_Three years after Draco's rather unorthodox proposal, and finally, we're married and bound together by law._

_Isn't that a rather scary thought? _

_ Ron's been apoplectic ever since he remembered what usually happened on wedding nights…Ha! Does he actually think we've never done **that**__ before? I get the odd impression that he thinks me a nun, and Draco, a man with morals. Poor, naïve brother of mine. Mother says I'll drive him to an early death._

_The wedding was wonderful. Heaps of people came, and we even managed to have a Persephone and Hades theme to it. Ha-ha. Draco looked good enough to eat, but all I got was a quick peck when we said, ' I do.'_

_It's just so surreal, being married to Draco Malfoy of all people. Could it be truly possible to be in love with someone like this? It all seems too good to be true, as if it will all be whisked away from me in a single instance. Just like all those times I would dream about marrying Harry Potter when I was a little girl, only to find my mother cruelly smacking me with a pillow in attempt to awake me. _

_As for you, diary—I guess I should really be thanking you. Where would I be in life if you hadn't arrived around Chistmastime that one special year? Without my hunk of love, that's where._

_Also--I suppose I should thank you for curing me of diary-phobia, proving to me that some diaries really are all right. You've done good for a collection of paper bound together by string and magic._

_For now, I guess you'll be safely tucked away in the drawer with the photo albums, until someday, when I feel like laughing at my own stupidity and want to remember a time when I was, to be quite frank—lost. _

_Ahem—must go now._

_Draco insists that he means to keep the promise he made about 'wanting to have ten children running amok'. ; -)_

_--Ginny. _

**A/N:** ****

**Thank Yous: **

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::does the ' My Gosh, I actually finished a fic!' dance::

Once again, **THANK YOU** to everyone who has reviewed this fic…it gave me the incentive to drag my arse to the computer to finish it.

--**_seven years_**


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